


Strange Shadows

by Aenigmatic



Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BTS: AU, Drama, Episode: s04e10 Beneath the Surface, F/M, Gen, obviously not for minors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 87,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenigmatic/pseuds/Aenigmatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting brought them together. Now, a closely kept secret threatens to pull apart this new, fragile relationship. The perilous journey ahead of them has just begun. A very AU exploration of ‘Beneath the Surface’. S/J centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Rated: T, M in later chapters
> 
> Disclaimer: Some dialogue appropriated from the show to fit the plot. No copyright infringement intended. 
> 
> Author’s note: This grew out of quite a simple question: what if Jonah and Thera were considered too valuable to be slave workers in the mine and led actual, ‘normal’ lives on P3R-118? My characterisation of the both of them is deliberately different in the beginning as we start far, far out in an AU; it’s also an extrapolation of how the mind wipe would have altered their life histories and to a lesser extent, certain aspects of their personalities. Without the constraining context of the military and the Stargate program, I imagine Carter and O’Neill would behave rather differently with each other. By the time the story spins back to the SGC towards the end, we’ll get the O’Neill and Carter that we’re familiar with. 
> 
> My thanks to Lucycat from GW who was the originator of this particular idea. I just took it, watered it and wrote it. 
> 
> “They see only their own shadows or the shadows of one another…” – Plato, The Allegory of the Cave

A thousand voices spoke at once. They whispered into her ear, hissing jargon that she couldn’t understand. Then came the breathless whirl of images, a terrifying visual assault that made her wheel across scenes as quickly as the pages of a book could be flipped. Abruptly, they froze and faded into nothingness, leaving a throbbing pain and a painfully racing heartbeat that took a while to subside.

Out of the chaos, a small, low-pitched voice insistently said her name.

Reflexively, her hands closed into tight fists as she fought the rising tide of nausea that has taken up residence in the pit of her stomach.

The voice has stopped. Frantically, she searched for her lifeline, swimming out of the darkness, kicking with a force that brought the pain back. Wincing, she opened her eyes, then shut them immediately against the brightness, catching the faint words issued from the mouth of a smiling man dressed in white, black and dark red.

“Do you hear me?”

It was a struggle to work a dry, parched throat. “Yes.”

A straw was placed at her lips and she sucked at it gratefully, feeling the cool rush of a sweet liquid down her throat.

“Now, can you see me?”

“Yes.” Her voice came out more clearly this time.

This was the part that she liked the most. They were familiar questions that she allowed herself to answer on autopilot, asked in a monotone that acted like a soothing balm to the blinding pain in her head a few seconds ago.

“Open your eyes.”

She obeyed wordlessly, lifting her lids fractionally against the piercing light, then slowly retracted them until everything swam into sight as a blurry mass of whites, blacks and reds.

“Tell me what you see in front of you.”

She exhaled sharply, waiting until her sharpening vision brought her surroundings into greater clarity. “I see you.”

“Good,” the voice replied affably. “Tell me what you see around you.”

“Lights. Quiet. Chair. Calm. Soothing-” With no trace of hesitation in her speech, she continued her fragmented litany, giving the man who faced her a monosyllabic description of what she felt in no particular order, repeating the words that she had repeated at least a hundred times.

He was putting her through her paces. It was routine conditioning, a framework of known variables arranged in a fashion that was easy enough to follow, a prescribed list of instructions that she instinctively gravitated towards. There was some comfort in its unchanging nature.

A short period of silence fell after she exhausted her long list of words.

“You are showing marked improvement,” he said and paused, peering straight into her eyes, the weight of his approval evident in his voice.

Inordinately pleased with her progress, she smiled tentatively in response. “It’s good to hear that.”

“Now tell me about your past.”

She took a deep breath and began. “I lost my parents a decade ago. They died in what the military called a tragic accident. I studied at the Institute of Science. I was a prodigy whom the Administration noticed.”

“Tell me more.”

She dug deep, obeying the soft command, forcing herself through the thick morass that was a wasteland of ruined memories, sifting through the haze and the ash in a fruitless search for a gem of clarity.

Yet none came.

As though from a distance, the machines whirred and clicked in time with her roiling thoughts and emotions, giving inadequate expression to the mental tangle in which she found herself. Reluctantly, she pulled herself back and opened her eyes, frustration turning her voice into a raspy whisper. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Try again.”

Sucking in a quick breath, she dove in again…only to come up short with an insurmountable block that hadn’t been there before. Panic clawed at her arms, forcing its fingers into her heart, ready to rip it open. A scream rose and died in her throat, stopped only by the heavy weight of a hand over her bare arms.

It was her only lifeline in an anchorless sea of blank solitude.

“I’m sorry,” she cried out, blinking away the moisture that pooled hot and traitorous at the corner of her eyes. “Please. I can’t!”

His voice was a low monotone, containing no judgement. “It is alright.”

But it wasn’t, was it? More upset at herself than anything, she snapped her eyes open, needing seeing for herself that there was no trace of disappointment in the man’s face simply because she hadn’t been able to remember what had apparently been taught to her a few times before.

The man stood, apparently satisfied with her reply and twisted a few knobs on the topmost machines next to him, sending a low pulse that went straight under her skin, veining out from her chest, to her neck and finally to the back of her head, like the rapid downward flow of a river’s tributaries over a steep embankment. She tensed as her muscles contracted, awaiting the splitting headache that was to follow – as routine dictated. Her eyes fell closed involuntarily, shutting out the machines’ blinking lights as their hum intensified-

Instead, all that she saw was a slow montage of images that told a story of a city in pain. Crumbling ruins, washed out faces and screaming children – loss personified in senseless destruction. But pain was also personal….she saw her face in the faces of the children who mourned their dying parents, in those who died, in the populace who lost their trust in the government and its military. She saw herself working, churning out reports and calculations in the constant strive to prove her intellect as big as they had said it was, the endless nights of working for a purpose.

Instinctively, she reached out, as though the physicality of that action could capture the intangibility of a moment, then drew it back when the image flicked past her consciousness. Faster and faster, these fragments coalesced into a single image…of a blond woman with blue eyes, who stood tall and steady with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

The disquieting images in her mind faded to blackness.

She jerked hard in her seat, opening her eyes to take in the familiar room and the man who stood opposite her with his fingers poised over the machines’ dials. A quick glance down told her that she was restrained. As was the usual practice. The long time that she had spent in this chair has taught her well that struggling would get her nowhere and simply brought about more pain.

The visual invasion was exhausting. But they helped her to remember what she’d forgotten and perhaps, that was all that really mattered. Everything had transpired to bring her to this very point – a place that was infinitely better than where she’d been previously.

“Do you remember now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now tell me your name.”

“I am Thera Arann.”


	2. In a day's work

_Several months later_

“The byway is clear. No sign of hostile forces.”

He ignored the voice in his communication link device, more interested in what had caught his attention.

The small, dark spot that marred the ground was a dead giveaway. Slowly, he crouched and swiped a finger down across the tiny, unsightly blot. He brought his stained digit up to his nose, giving it a short, hard sniff.

Tangy. Metallic. Pungent. The result of a corrosive action of skin oils with iron.

He noted that the blood was fresh, spilled mostly likely because of a superficial wound, judging from the small amount that had dripped on the hard concrete. So there was still a chance that they could be found alive, but he wouldn’t count on it.

Not with these people who had taken them.

Then he stood up and carefully shouldered his blast rifle, readjusting its strap, relishing its comforting weight across his chest and back.

“Silver, do you read?”

Adjusting the wireless link in his ear, he finally replied. “Copy, Cuinn.”

“Initial sightings say that the PPA are attempting to cross the south end of the Telzarin traverse.”

Silver frowned, looking at his lightly-stained finger, then up at the artificial light that filtered through the massive, spherical shield in the atmosphere. The precarious, feared Telzarin traverse lay far beyond the reaches of the protective dome, a notorious, glacial junkyard of spiked rock formation and violent volcanic activity that stretched a hundred miles to the west, the end of which was a vertiginous thousand-foot drop into a roiling sea so acidic it peeled off a man’s skin within seconds.

But it was also a distance too great to bridge in three hours, despite the rumours that had been filtering through the Administration about the Planet Protection Agency’s strengthening military capability.

Silver tilted his head slightly and considered the reliability of the intelligence report. He was willing to bet that it was simply a decoy, a piece of information that had been hung out like tantalising morsels for the sole purpose of creating rabbit trails.

The blood that was on his finger however, screamed a different story. A quick, mental calculation of distance and time helped confirm his suspicions.

“I’ve my doubts about that, Cuinn,” he said after a while. “We’re moving out, but only midway down the Gaszril pass to the Stenn gap. They couldn’t have gotten that far and there’s enough evidence here that they left the city through the weakest point of the shield. Exactly where we’re standing.”

“Silver-”

“The Gaszril pass is the only road to the research institute and the fastest way to the Telzarin traverse,” he interjected.

Beyond the city’s transparent energy dome, the winds were picking up. The freak change in weather merely affirmed his earlier assessment. Those bastards couldn’t have gone _too_ far. Visibility was next to nothing and frankly, he’d be the first to admit that he wouldn’t be able to see past his own ass out there.

“You’d better be-”

The low frequency whine of the stealth transport craft prematurely ended the conversation. A black mass took shape as it approached the landing platform, emitting a series of counter electrical pulses that temporarily dissolved a portion of the dome’s energy shield.

Silver couldn’t help the shiver than went down his back when the comfortable climate-controlled temperatures plunged rapidly as the craft’s landing ramp lowered with a sharp, hissing sound.

Then he turned and barked to the rest of the team behind him, “Alright boys. I wanna get home in time for dinner. Let’s get this over with.”

“Weak stomach, huh, Sir?”

“Yeah, you have a problem with that?”

Ignoring their snickers, he waved his men in then followed suit, taking his usual seat near the rear of the transporter.

“Alby,” he said, “pull up the contour map of Gaszril.”

“On it, Sir.”

A chirp from a flat-screen device interrupted the quiet hum of the craft’s smooth glide through the winds. A few seconds later, the pilot’s voice came through the craft’s communication pods.

“Sir, a note from Administrator Calder’s security office confirms that it is Meslar Tving claiming responsibility for the hostage situation and the seizure of the Korros shipment.”

“Of course it is,” Silver muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Meslar the Twit and the Planetary Protection Asses, as he’d privately renamed them, had been on Calder’s most-wanted list for years for their special, extreme brand of environmental protection that has caused endless grief to the security teams in the Neithana’s Administration.

It was a messy situation, a damned fray where differing agendas clashed – and clashed violently. At its most basic, the simple truth was that their planet was in trouble. Had been for sometime in fact, ever since a spectacularly botched science experiment nearly a hundred and fifty years ago consequently destabilising the planet’s orbital cycle, gradually bringing about a planetary ice age that plunged their world deeper into their winters.

Ironic that the experiment had been conducted with the ultimate aim of eradicating the four seasons on the planet in order to bring about perpetual spring-like conditions.

All of it wouldn’t have been possible without a wonder mineral the Administration and their eggheads term the Korros element. Or maybe it was better known as the trump card of politicians who hailed this thing’s potential as the next miracle that could save a city in crisis, Silver reflected sourly. In fact, there was too much going for it to leave it where it lay, thanks to the leeway given to the scientists’ constant, earnest claims that they had unlocked Korros’s true potential.

Until something went wrong, as it often did.

The files that he’d perused on the Korros’s development projects prior to the catastrophic disaster over a century ago always led to the same conclusion: a series of botched experiments was always followed by hasty installations of fail-safes; complacency in these safety measures had often led to more reckless, off-the-record experimentation. The risks of a pending large-scale disaster had in essence, been escalating exponentially if anyone had cared to look properly.

They just never did learn.

It was only _another_ reason why Silver disliked eggheads and their penchant for officiously thinking themselves the higher power, only to overwhelmingly prove themselves not.

The most frustrating part of it all was that it seemed as though nothing had changed, even after a hundred and fifty years of living in an icy wasteland of their own making. Only a constructed domed shield after the damned disaster – a desperate joint effort by several departments in the Administration – had saved the population from freezing into extinction.

Life had gone on with a measure of normalcy; in the decades that passed, few really looked up at the sky anymore when all they saw was ambient light.

But even that was failing now. A slowly dwindling supply from rapidly-cooling, overused geothermal hotspots was also taking away the shielding power of the dome, thinning its organic layer and its capabilities to constantly keep out the cold and the unwanted, toxic atmospheric particles. Harnessing new, untapped sources for geothermal heat to provide base-load power was in itself an engineering challenge; toxicity in the atmosphere was slowly making it near impossible for prolonged periods of development. Repeated attempts at trying however, simply produced human-induced seismicity when shifting water levels changed the strain on the rock layers beneath the city and beyond.

In essence, the city simply wasn’t operating at a sustainable rate any longer. That much was old news in Neithana.

The research institutes had struggled for options. And they would have continued their stretch of academic fallow had not a scientist been plucked from relative obscurity and thrust into the limelight for her groundbreaking theories and seminal papers on stabilising the core of the very element that had brought their planet to its knees.

Korros was stealing the limelight again, along with this scientist’s discoveries, and not in a good way at all.

Silver scowled to himself. He knew as well as anyone did that it had also become a political sticking point; the first who raced to the finish line with a renewable energy source was also guaranteed office.

And that was also when the trouble started in earnest.

News of Thera Arann’s early, successful simulations with Korros made its rounds, sending ripples through the Administration and the informers of a once-peaceful organisation that had recently acquired an aggressive, combative edge in their protests against the latest technological breakthrough.

Peaceful protests of tree-huggers had lined the central streets some time back, fearing that toxic cycle of an energy revolution that had nearly put an end to their world could easily do so again. Once upon a time, Silver had thought it cute, hilarious and ultimately useless. But a growing number of supporters sympathetic to the PPA’s cause had helped things along a bit too much. It had only taken a short period of time for former tree-huggers to turn into a hostile force that had taken a sizeable chunk out of the Administration’s coffers.

In truth, the PPA’s seizure of the Korros consignment wasn’t unexpected. Mined in dangerous conditions deep underground by hardened criminals who worked out their sentences to keep their planet self-sustaining as they lived out their big freeze, Korros was paid for in blood.

Without its ready availability, work in the scientific lab would stall.

The PPA’s rationale was both simple and simplistic: destroy the supply and its transport routes and the city would stay safe from meddling scientists’ hands…until the shield failed completely and killed them all, both the good and the bad eggs.

Early on, it was pretty much the lack of foresight on the PPA’s part that had irritated Silver more than their efforts at sabotaging the shipment. To him, they were offering nothing but a single-faceted path of violence that emerged out of their fatalistic view of the planet’s condition, misguidedly operating on the premise that only aggression demonstrated the supposed higher moral ground they took.

But things were often rarely that simple. If the shield failed, all that was going to be left was a dead civilisation. Were the PPA members simply going to live their lives out in the primitive wilderness under the ice?

The pieces of the puzzle hadn’t fitted and ever since he’d returned to duty after a prolonged period of absence, something had just felt wrong.

Not that he was agreeing with what the scientists were doing too but at least that hadn’t frequently involved getting their own asses busted.

For a long moment, Silver stared sightlessly at the ground, a hundred thoughts racing through his mind.

The sudden burst of sound from the communication pod stirred him out of his musings.

“Approaching Gaszril. Sir, ready to fastrope in sixty seconds.”

He blinked, deliberately blanking his mind of unwanted distractions. Then he gave the order. “Time to go.”

Gearing up took a matter of seconds. Silver pulled on his shades, mask and crampons, listening carefully for the short, high-pitched whine of the engine that signalled the retraction of the craft’s bottom platform.

As the craft crested the mountain range, a topographic saddle surface and the only continuous route that linked the isolated research institute to the main city came into sight. Framed by the steep cliffs on one side, the Gaszril pass wound several kilometres around the upper reaches of a fast-moving river and opened into a valley where a smaller dome shielded a lone building complex.

Despite the situation, the view from that vantage point still took his breath away.

The cold air rushed up the vent when the craft slowed to a hover at a gap road, allowing five figures to slide noiselessly down the cables and onto the ground where another man was already waiting.

He silently signalled his team into their positions, then crouched next to the man.

“Cuinn.”

“Nice to see you too, Silver. Got my team at the rear end of the gap ready and waiting.”

“Good.”

“You know, I sure hope this plan of yours works out. The big wigs are telling us this large shipment of Korros took nearly a year to mine. If this fails, I’m looking at the mines.”

A raised brow was Silver’s only response to that comment.

“It’ll work. I know this place,” he finally said after a minute of silence, raising his binoculars to scan the undulating surfaces of the mountain pass. The familiar ridges and drops came into view, blanketed in a flurry of white. A small movement from around the angular side of the cliff stayed his hand. “I see ‘em. Hostiles approaching in a convoy of six armoured vehicles from the west. Entering the kill zone in five seconds.”

Cuinn didn’t hesitate, signalling his own waiting team.

Silver took a slow, even breath. “On my ma-”

The sonic boom that echoed through the valleys was first felt then seen. It sent a rippling wave of energy that scoured their faces before a thunderous ball of flame and black smoke briefly lit the sky orange and tossed a million tons of snow into the gap, blocking the only exit back into the city. From a distance, he heard the detonating claps of their explosive devices and arms fire, the sounds of an efficient, short-lived skirmish replaced quickly by the unending howls of the winds.

His second’s voice came through a few minutes later through their wireless link. “All clear, Sir. Keir is checking for the shipment.”

Silver nodded and frowned, suddenly recognising an unpleasant tingling in his gut that was refusing to go away. “Keep me apprised.”

Keir’s sudden alert held a note of panic. “The shipment’s not here!”

The vague sensation of unease crystallised into a terrifying moment of realisation.

Something was wrong.

The destruction of the armoured vehicles and their occupants had happened all too quickly, too easily. The absence of the Korros shipment only pointed to one thing: the hunter had become the hunted.

Silver caught a warning flicker before it happened. In that frozen second, he saw the rocket-propelled projectile fly across the pass from a higher elevation and bury itself in the snow-capped peak in a burst of superheated rock and melting ice. To the left and up a ridge, four silhouetted forms appeared. Whipping his head around to the right, he saw another four.

There were more, he knew, encircling, closing in the ranks. They’d inserted themselves in the narrow gaps of rock, emerging only when the first wave of attack began.

It meant that he and his team were surrounded on all sides.

_C’mon, think!_ _Focus!_

Silver willed the rising panic away, directing his thoughts only to their options.

Then the crazy-assed plan came to him. The only way to get out of this was to expand their operation. The sudden picture of a circle within a circle flashed briefly through his mind, a desperate, counteroffensive tactic he’d only ever read about and never employed.

But it was the only plan that had a chance of working.

A rush of adrenaline unfroze his limbs as he tried working his dry mouth into a semblance of a yell.

Banking solely on his recollection of the landscape, Silver made a quick decision, yanking out the rope and his artificial anchors from his kit and hoped he wasn’t going to send them all to their early graves.

“Cuinn, set up a rappel system.”

Then he barked his orders into the link to the teams. “Back off! Head for the caves. Get past the Gaszril and Foxpoint grid, past the gap’s sharp drop and out behind the hostiles.”

Even as he spoke, he knew that their wireless links weren’t going to function that deep underground. But he hoped that his damned team at least guessed what he was trying to do from the hasty set of instructions he’d just dropped.

The click of the belay device snapping into place reached his ears.

Cuinn was already holding out the harness. “I’ll be just behind you. Now go!”

Without hesitating, Silver kicked off the cliff and launched himself into vertical space, sliding down the rope as fast as he dared and brought himself nearly a quarter way down the five hundred foot descent. Jamming his foot into a deep crevasse, he risked a glance upwards and saw Cuinn matching his speed and distance.

Time and distance contracted to a small point on the cliff face as each excruciating metre down seemed long and drawn out.

A sudden wind surge slammed him against the sharp rock, its high-pitched howl muffling his shout of pain. Silver fought to regain control, his knuckles turning white with the effort of steadying his body weight and anchoring his feet to the cliff face. Somewhere above him, he heard the faint sounds of Cuinn’s own struggle with his rope balance.

The cross-directional gusts died down after what seemed like an eternity. Then he moved, the adrenaline coursing through his body giving him the impetus to finish the last fifty-foot stretch. Finally, he swung himself into a small, jagged opening in the rock, feeling his knees buckling beneath him at the unfamiliar feel of solid ground again.

Cuinn lowered himself into the cave a few seconds later, immediately pulling on the tag line to retrieve the rope. His smile was wobbly but relieved. “That was close.”

Silver followed suit, sparing a quick look at the man beside him. “Go on, say it.”

“You are one-”

“Crazy son-of-a-bitch?” He interrupted with a toothy grin, only to find Cuinn looking at him oddly. “What? It’s just an expression, isn’t it?”

Cuinn shook his head. “I swear, no one invents as many words as you do, Silver. But I’ll say now, without that stunt of yours, we’d be dead.”

Silver efficiently tucked away the ropes and anchors, then hefted his weapon. Not for the first time, he wondered if their teams were still alive and kicking. “Come on, let’s go.”

If the stretch down the mountain had been dangerous, nothing compared to the perils of the caves that were cut deep into the unforgiving planes of the north faces of the cliffs. Snow predators roamed the larger openings, their thick hides only penetrable by special spiked bullets that neither of them carried this time around.

So if they survived the next thirty minutes, they’d be in the clear.

They trudged through the cave as quickly as they could, crawling through certain narrow portions until they reached a large cavern lit by a beam of light that filtered through a small opening.

The increase of static in their wireless links indicated that the surface was near. Suddenly, the voice of his second-in-command broke through as clear as day on a frequency that Cuinn also shared.

“…you copy? I repeat, Silver, Cuinn, do you copy?”

Damn it to hell, Silver thought incredulously, it worked.

“Yeah, we’re here.”

“Alby, report.”

“We assumed that you wanted us to either take cover in the caves or spread over a wider area to close in on the hostiles. After rapping down the cliff face, we searched for a wireless signal immediately.”

The relief in Cuinn’s voice was evident. “We’re nearly out. What’s your location?”

“Twenty-seven degrees north and eighteen degrees west. You were right, Sir. We’re diagonally behind the hostile troops who are making their way slowly down the valley towards the blockage, presumably to retrieve their vehicles.”

Silver nodded once in satisfaction. “We’ve got them where we want them but you’re only going to get one chance at this. Cuinn and I are heading out east. Assume offensive formations. Strike on my cue. We’ll be covering you,” he instructed tersely.

Under no circumstances would they tolerate any form of negotiation with extremists. Or at least, it was the stand that Calder had made clear to all of Neithana’s protection agencies and security officers and Silver knew it well.

“Got it.”

“Good.” Immediately, he hauled himself up from the cave’s exit point and took a long, thorough sweep of their location. Beside him, Cuinn was doing the same.

Enough time had been wasted. Silver exchanged a look with Cuinn and shifted prone onto his stomach, ignoring the cold of the snow on his flesh. Steadying the grip on his blast rifle, he looked unblinkingly into the scope ring and took careful aim.

Then he tightened his finger on the trigger and spoke into his wireless link. “Now.”

oOo

It was late into the night before Silver actually stepped foot back into the city.

Weariness made his strides shorter and heavier as he headed for the stairs that led him into the inner core of the thriving metropolis, the administrative centre where buildings shot high into the sky and competed for dazzling views.

So much for dinner, Silver thought wryly. Filthy, sore, bruised and hungry, he suddenly wished he could sneak in some food while they debriefed. He’d be lucky to just get a bath tonight if the post-mission briefings at the security department went as planned.

Truth be told, he was more relieved than triumphant, the short battle having worn him down despite his and Cuinn’s teams efficiently dispatching the rebel forces with ease after regaining the element of surprise.

The Gaszril pass had erupted into weapons fire on his command. And then it was over in a matter of minutes when the last rebel standing crumpled to the ground. But the Korros shipment had stayed missing and most likely buried under the ice. Immediate recovery actions were halted when the dark blue hues of the evening chased away the short daylight.

Once again, he allowed himself to feel more than a twinge of regret for the drivers who lost their lives in the skirmish. But not any more than that.

They’d been doing their jobs when the PPA had decided to take them all for a joyride. Just as counter-insurgency and neutralising rebel forces formed a major part of his job description. Every mission carried its risks and the teams had better damn well accept that.

Silver suppressed the urge to sigh. Tomorrow was going to be another long day when recovery actions continued. That meant something like five hours of sleep in his apartment, a quick, readymade meal and a small beverage preferably with the sharp sting of alcohol in it.

Cuinn broke into his brooding with a curious question. “How did you know what to do back there at the pass? The caves were there when we needed them. Somehow, it worked out when I never thought it would. Did they teach you that in service college?”

Silver’s shoulders lifted slightly in an imitation of a shrug. “Just a chance I took.”

He hadn’t meant for the answer to come out so flippantly, especially when he knew that it had been more luck than strategic planning that had miraculously brought them back alive. But Cuinn had raised a good question, one to which he hadn’t given any thought until it had been voiced.

He had always known his limits and wasn’t afraid to push them beyond what he felt comfortable. While instinct sometimes governed the strategies that he’d employed as a team leader of the counter-insurgency forces, the second group of PPA hostiles in their version of an ambush had been too well-hidden in the numerous inlets of the Gaszril Pass, beyond their visible line of sight for intuition to do its handy work. Even so, predicting their location would ordinarily be next to impossible.

But as skilled a commander he was in the counter-insurgency forces, the quick, daring rappel down the vertical cliff faces and the jaunt through the caves far surpassed the risks a sensible leader would have taken when caught a surprise ambush.

To those who looked, the desperate move appeared to be a deliberate combination of quick-thinking, sound military strategy and a large dose of foolhardiness that saved them all.

Why had he done it? How had he known it would have worked?

The truth was, he didn’t. But it was a move so eerily familiar that it couldn’t have been possible for him to have merely read about it _once_ without having done it himself.

A stray memory abruptly flashed in his mind, of him dressed in olive and black, holding a black weapon of sorts, not unlike the blast rifle he carried. As quickly as it had come, the wisp of déjà vu flitted off like the curl of smoke dissipating into nothingness.

_What the hell was that?_

Silver shook his head, as though the physical movement would help shake off the sudden gathering of cobwebs.

“Silver?”

Slightly abashed, he looked at Cuinn and shrugged again. Then realising that the other man was still waiting for a reply, he quickly flicked through a number of reasons, each one more implausible than its previous one he could just throw at the man. To admit that he didn’t really know how it all came about would do nothing but paint himself as an absent-minded idiot who threw all caution to the wind, based on what a _book_ had supposedly mentioned. Yet he wasn’t entirely comfortable with an outright lie to a man whom he trusted.

Maybe the answer lay somewhere as a particular shade of grey. Or perhaps it was simply consequence of having been nightsick a long time ago.

Not that he’d ever mention _that_ humiliating detail.

In the end, Silver opted for an easier but oblique explanation of the prior tactical knowledge that he seemed to have developed overnight.

“The Gaszril pass isn’t their stronghold. They aren’t familiar with the area enough,” Silver tried again and hoped Cuinn picked up enough of the annoyance that had crept into his voice to leave it be.

“Calder will be pleased to hear that you did yet another job well.” Cuinn threw his answer over his shoulder and headed to the facilities on the left, presumably to wash-up before the briefing.

Silver stared after him for a long minute, then resumed his walk across the quadrangle, his long strides faltering only when he nearly ran down the man who waited patiently at the steps of the government building.

Inwardly, he sighed and looked up, bypassing the greeting he used when addressing a superior. “Administrator Calder.”

A small, enigmatic smile tilted the smaller man’s lips in greeting. “Welcome back, Jonah.”


	3. As meetings go

“Multiple scans have narrowed the location of the shipment down to the north quadrant of Gaszril where erosion has carved a gap wide enough for it to be stored.”

“Copy. Keep me apprised.”

Jonah slipped on his sunshades and stepped out of the tent where operations to recover the shipment were well under way, finally allowing the tension to drain from his shoulders when he felt the gentle caress of the cold breeze on his cheeks.

There was no escaping the damn cold. But at least the day was sunny.

Hell, it was the sunniest day in a long while, the light from the planet’s only sun throwing deep, alternating shadows of light and darkness on the sharp, rocky planes of the mountains in a way that ambient light from a dome couldn’t ever do.

Squinting out into the landscape, he swallowed a sigh. It’d taken three days to clear the snow and another two to repave the destroyed path of the Gaszril pass where the firefight had taken place. And he’d only spent the first night in his own bed in his apartment; he’d slept the rest curled up in a tent with a dozen others.

The sudden, upward trajectory of an avian creature that flitted through the sky yanked his gaze upwards. Mesmerised, he watched its graceful ascent and the sudden retraction of its green wings that allowed it to sharply drop into a valley and out of sight.

Jonah grinned slightly, knowing that he was the only one among the lot who’d openly loved the wildness of the environment. He relished the outdoors, a character trait that was unusual of a Neithanan who’d lived all his life in the civilised propriety of the city and breathed the sterile, scrubbed air underneath its dome.

But he had no illusions about it. Out here, the dangers were many. Neithana was the only remnant of a once-sprawling civilisation that had survived on this brutal, godforsaken land that was now threatening to encroach on the bubble of oblivious city-dwellers.

Only the counter-insurgency forces used this landscape as their playground. Even then, he remembered the countless men that were still buried out here, layers under the snow.

The crunch of footsteps across ice made him glance up.

“Darius?”

“Sir, the recovery operations team has reported that they have tunnelled through the rockfall. It won’t be too long before they retrieve the shipment.”

His eyebrows went up. They were working faster than he thought. Unbidden, a wry comment escaped his lips. “No booby-traps, huh?”

“Uh, Sir?”

Jonah sighed at the confusion that came over the man’s face. His vocabulary was just another oddity in a long list that made him stand out apart from the rapidly greying hair. Luckily enough, his team was more or less accustomed to the quirks he seemed to display in abundance.

He tried explaining it plainly, regretting for a moment that they still didn’t quite get his humour. “A booby-trap is simply a trap for the unsuspecting, triggered unknowingly when you poke your nose into something you shouldn’t.”

“Right.”

A restrained smirk touched his lips when Darius’s sceptical expression didn’t fade. “Never mind. Let’s get to it.”

The loader was retrieving the shielded crate by the time Jonah and Darius reached the north quadrant, the noise of the heavy craft muffled by the thick snow.

The recovery team had done a good job, he observed as he watched his men smoothly move in to check the shipment for damage. He wouldn’t put it past the PPA to tamper with the highly precious mineral; in fact, he has been more astounded to learn that nothing seemed out of place in the recovery team’s initial report.

“Silver, I think the locking mechanism has been compromised.” Cuinn emerged from a group of men who stood next to the loader, raising the protective head gear to reveal his red, lined face.

The sound of the other shoe, he thought dryly, barely refraining from saying it aloud. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Sign of forced entry?”

“Negative. But any attempt to breach the protective layer may set off a charge…” Cuinn trailed off, leaving the implication hanging.

Jonah grimaced. “Oy.”

“It’s a highly specific method that looks to be both touch-sensitive and genetically calibrated. We don’t have the equipment for it here.”

For a moment, Jonah didn’t answer. He cast his eyes casually around, observing the lethargic movements of his team, seeing the shadows that grew beneath their eyes ever since this operation had started. And then he threw all caution to the wind, the thought of what he was going to do causing a slightly wicked smile to cross his face.

“You know, Cuinn, I think we’re going to leave the scientists to this.”

A snort was his only reply.

“The men are tired. They need their rest,” he said seriously, all traces of mischief vanishing. “The longer they’re out here, the less they can function on this altitude without suffering adverse effects. And the greater the chance of us screwing everything up.”

Cuinn sent a thoughtful stare his way. “I can’t agree more.”

The affirmative, as reluctant as it was, validated his decision.

“Great. Now let’s get the hell out of dodge, get this thing to the facility and go home.”

Thera Arann, or whoever it was who was going to receive the shipment, Jonah thought with a smirk, was going to have his or her hands full.

oOo

“Thera?”

The startling sound of her own name made her jump, a reflex action that consequently overturned the sample in the small petri dish onto the table. To her right, the computer screen beeped out a shrill chirp, its sensor detecting the immediate contamination of the mineral sample.

There went the small-scale, thermodynamic assessment of Korros’s phase stability.

She sighed her muted frustration and threw her gloves roughly to one side, clenching her fists tightly as she resisted yelling at the person who’d come at the most importune time during a sensitive experiment.

Only when she’d calmed down did she deem herself sufficiently composed to paste a fake smile on her face and turn around to face the unwelcome presence.

A short, balding man with dark hair and green eyes stood near the end of her bench with a horrified expression on his face. “Sorry for interrupting. But I see that it’s a bit too late for that,” he said contritely.

Thera mentally went through a few responses that ranged from plain rude to the diplomatically polite before settling on a direct question that hinted at her irritation.

“What do you need, Marlon?”

“Um, Yllara is asking for you,” he said, then dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I think it might be about the latest shipment.”

Thanking him, she pushed out of her seat and stalked past him, heading straight for her superior’s office, past the glazed windows of the length of the lab and up a level.

Her flat shoes made soft clicks against the floor as she approached the double doors that granted only an exclusive few entry to Yllara’s large office.

Then she stopped three feet before the closed doors, waiting for the full-body identity scan to do its job.

In the next second, thick beams of alternating purple and green banded her body, then disappeared with a soft chime, the invisible sound and traffic barriers dropping simultaneously after the security computers scanned and verified her identity.

The way forward was clear.

Without the soundproofing, Yllara’s soft voice floated out from the office clearly. “Thera, come in.”

Thera stepped into the cool, white spaces of the office, her eyes appreciatively sweeping the holographic representation of a tiled central courtyard framed by the remarkable views of green, interlocking spurs and rolling high plateaus that Yllara had single-handedly fashioned as a humbling reminder of Neithana’s original landscapes.

A symbol of hope, Yllana had once said to her on the day she’d started work in the research institute, but also a solemn memorial to what they had before a foolhardy experiment changed it all.

But to her, it has been an intoxicating rush to learn of the impressive technology and the incredible science that they worked with, a long-time dream fulfilled when she found herself working among the Administration’s highest echelons of scientists.

The woman behind the long desk was busy with a number of controls that on her console, barely looking up as she walked in, automatically repeating the commonplace greeting on Neithana.

“It’s my honour to serve.”

The quiet hum of the systems on Yllara’s desk died abruptly when a quick push of a button shut them down.

“I’ve received news of the Korros shipment.”

The thrill of excitement went down her back. “That’s good news.”

“Unfortunately, initial reports are saying that the shipment’s locking or shielding mechanism has been altered by PPA technology.”

“When’s it coming?”

Yllara stared contemplatively into the false depth of field created by the holographic projection, then turned back to Thera, knowing full well the implications of her answer.

“At the end of the day.”

“That’s not fast enough,” Thera snapped. “The exponential decay rate of the element means that it’s as good as useless when it arrives.”

Yllara paused at the brusque reply, regarding the woman whose rising prominence in the Administration’s research community had made her as many friends as it did enemies because her evolutionary theories involving the stabilising the sacred Korros element and its synthesis with Geltum had stirred an equal amount of revulsion and hope among those who were either jealous or admiring.

Not that Thera had actually cared, consumed by work as she was and merciless to fools when she needed to be, as though the drive to keep Neithana from sinking had become a personal crusade that she’d embarked on long ago.

No one had asked, whether out of politeness or deference; neither had Thera volunteered the information.

But the demons Thera fought were best left private, even if it shrouded her in some mystery that attracted a large part of the male population. All that had mattered was the single-minded drive of a single woman who, despite some rough edges, had in recent months, invigorated the work place.

“I know what it means, Thera,” she said blandly with studied care, hearing the barely repressed sigh across from her. “I assume you know what happened to the shipment?”

She nodded. “Then you’ll also know that we might not end up with any sizeable amount of the shipment after it decays.”

“Such is the nature of a publicly-scrutinised project.”

Yllana’s willowy grace and calm manner had gone some way in placating her ruffled nerves. Thera shifted slightly, considering the woman’s words.

_The nature of the project._

Media interviews and press conferences, soirées and tea invites. All of which involved rubbing shoulders with high-ranking officials and affiliated institutions simply because it kept the inflow of funds steady. Some had been convinced of her theories, their engagement genuine. Others showed their surreptitious interest in the length of her skirts.

But those were experiences she’d happily forego.

It was a parody of a scientist’s job, packed with unimportant events that were costly distractions. A perpetual existence on eggshells as the whole city waited for a misstep, a costly mistake.

And that made her wince.

The chime of an incoming message brought an abrupt end to the conversation. A few seconds later, Yllara punched a button on her console and stood up.

“They’re here. I have given them permission to enter the facility. Actually, I’m going to ask you to liaise with the security department and the escorts more directly.”

No better invitation there, Thera thought dryly as she turned and made her way to the South entrance.

“I’ll be right down.”

oOo

The trip down to the storage area was halted by a subordinate who needed some help with an experiment, then interrupted by a stupid question from someone who shouldn’t even have been christened a scientist. Thera turned the corner to hear the barely-concealed irritation in a man’s voice, lengthening her strides in response, her own annoyance growing with the five-minute delay.

“Who’s taking delivery of the shipment?” The voice, initially blocked by the reinforced crate, belonged to a tall stranger, his casual stance a strange contrast to his commanding tone.

Good-looking, ruggedly-chiselled, lean and muscular. Something she’d also noticed immediately. But he looked military, was heavily armed and most likely carried a remarkable capacity for not understanding the delicate processes in a scientific research institute.

All the things she found distasteful about men who were brawns and little brains. Something that this…security guard seemed to exemplify.

Thera kept her tone cool and measured, already wishing they got this over and done with. “I am.”

The man shrugged in response and patted the side of the crate lightly. “Couldn’t have made it sooner. Sorry about that.”

But if he’d thought the blasé response had soothed her rattled nerves, it had done the exact opposite.

She eyed him in growing disbelief. “The decay rate of the Korros element waits for no man.”

He threw her a speculative look that bordered on amusement. “Hey, lady, I don’t know what died and got up your as-”

“The name is Thera Arann,” she interrupted him smoothly, feeling a prick of satisfaction when he looked nonplussed.

Her name was famous enough for Jonah not to have heard of her. And she was pretty enough, he thought, and a hell of a lot better looking in person than the unflattering pictures in the reports that he’d flipped through in his work. What he certainly hadn’t expected was a personality as uptight as a-

“-and I believe it’s appropriate for you to address me as such.”

A smirk crossed his face as he said, “Whoever you are, decay or not, maybe you’ll come to appreciate it a bit more when you know the hell that my men went through to get this back for your people.”

_His men. Your people._

She repeated those words to herself, pursing her lips into a thin, bloodless line. Us and them. Us vs. them. Whether unknowingly or not, he’d drawn up those battle-lines that had firmly placed both of them on opposing sides.

But she had better things to do than to argue with someone who most likely, didn’t understand the differences between a compound and a-

Thera left that thought unfinished, reminding herself that he wasn’t worth the vocabulary.

“Then you and your people are probably unversed with Korros’s properties, the most important of them being its exponential rate of decay into a substance that is unusable,” she pointed out derisively. “Had you come a few hours later with the shipment, you would have been delivering a load of inert Keros-13. Your efforts would have been for nothing.”

“Maybe it would have helped if you actually bothered to keep yourself updated with what really happened with your precious cargo this time around?” he suggested evenly.

“We handle things here just fine. But seeing as the transportation and retrieval processes failed...” Thera trailed off meaningfully, then turned to inspect the crate.

Seemingly unfazed by her cutting words, he followed her around the corner as she took a careful look at the crate, his apparent refusal to let her do her job in peace merely exacerbating her irritation.

Finally she whipped around, staring him hard in the face. “What are you doing?”

He raised a sardonic brow and stepped even closer. “My job, apparently.”

She straightened from her half-completed appraisal of the shipment, suddenly eager to get him off her hands and start work on what was left of the shipment. “I’d say your job’s done.”

Jonah fought the sigh of relief that was threatening to escape, rapidly tiring of the juvenile trade-off in which he’d unwittingly found himself.

“Thankfully,” he told her curtly and stalked off, throwing his parting words casually over his shoulder. “And by the way, you might want to have a look at the compromised locks on your precious shipment.”

He figured that if she was smart enough to find a way to tame the untameable element, then she was certainly clever enough to work out the crate’s altered locking mechanism on her own. Hadn’t she said, after all, that they handled things just fine?

Jonah joined the rest of his team outside, dragged the hood back over his head and climbed into the small, waiting craft, fully intending to head back to the city – and away from this harpy – with the rest of his team for some well-deserved downtime.

Bastard, Thera thought absently, staring at his retreating back, annoyance now mixed with an entirely new feeling of unease. The silver-haired stranger had seemed oddly familiar in a way she couldn’t place, like a recollection of a memory she never had.

The transport craft shot through the shield, into the sky and banked left on a familiar course set for Neithana, suddenly triggering an image so incongruous that it made her blink in surprise.

Of her, dressed in black, seated in a similar craft that…flew among the…stars?

Thera simply put it down to be a consequence of wishful thinking and idleness. Or perhaps it was a subconscious warning that she needed a break soon, that the unceasing nature of her work meant that she was actually spending most of her days in the research institute and too little time in the beautiful city itself where her small apartment was now languishing in mould.

Or perhaps it signalled the return of a malady more ominous than she’d cared to entertain: nightsickness. An ailment that most folks around didn’t like to talk about.

Had the affliction returned?

For a while, she stood motionless, looking into the sky where the craft had become a mere speck.

Perhaps a quick visit to the facility’s medical centre was in order.


	4. In Sickness and Health

The interruption was unwanted, at a time like this. Where rations were scarce, the slightest distraction during meal times often escalated into petty fights over the slightest morsel of bread. 

Carlin ignored the tap on his shoulder, taking his time to scrap the corner of the bowl as he kept his head down. A second, harder tap made him look up in annoyance that quickly faded into wary calmness as he saw a familiar face staring down at him.

“Hey.”

“Keagan,” he acknowledged and shifted slightly, looking at the woman with whom he’d recently become acquainted.

She took his gesture as an invitation and sat down next to him without hesitation. “The pumps are in a dire state of repair. I think they’re clogged.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged, his gaze already following the bulky shape of another man who stood at the end of the deserted corridor, still working through the meal break. “Who’s that?”

“The talk around here says he’s from the mines. I think his name is Tor,” she said and cast him a sideways glance.

_Tor._

He probably worked a different shift, Carlin surmised thoughtfully. But why did he feel as though they’ve met before?

“Carlin?”

He snapped his attention back to her, seeing how she was looking at him as though she was trying to figure out the reason for his sudden silence.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Weren’t you from the mines? Surely you have seen him. I heard that he just got transferred here a few days ago. About the time you got here as well.”

Grimacing, he put aside his bowl for a moment. “Actually, no. Not really.”

“Different shifts?” Keagan asked knowingly, seemingly unfazed by his reticence.

He shrugged. “Most likely.”

She lowered her voice until he could barely hear her above the din of the machinery. “They say that he’s been nightsick.”

That tidbit that she dropped made him sit upright in shock. And here he’d thought he was one in a few thousands who suffered it. “Really?”

She must have seen the interest flare in his face as she smiled slightly. “Yeah, so they say.”

“I was too, you know,” he told her honestly as he watched her stare agape at him. “I don’t really, um, remember what I did before mining.”

The surprise didn’t leave Keagan’s face as she struggled for words. “Carlin…I’m sorry. I didn’t know. It’s just not something that people talk about.”

He threw her a sideways glance. “Really? I never felt it was something to be ashamed of.”

Keagan sighed and picked up her own bowl moodily. “People who are nightsick lose their minds. It’s a feared disease that makes you forget who you are. You don’t remember anything of what you used to do.”

Carlin looked up at the only friend he’d made in the past days and then back down at his food. He gave the gruel in his bowl a last stir and shovelled the rest into his mouth, ignoring how unappetising it looked and tasted.

“And that’s why people don’t talk about it? The fact that you have lost all your sense is too embarrassing to confess this bit to others?”

“I guess. But you seem different from the rest of us,” Keagan said and stood uncomfortably. “Look, my shift is beginning. And,” she hesitated before continuing, “Carlin…I wouldn’t go around talking about this. Brenna doesn’t like idle talk, especially about nightsickness.”

He gave a humourless snort in return and turned back to his rations, wondering about the secrecy that shrouded this place and the strange afflictions to which people were afraid to give voice. Were they subscribing to the notion that talking about it made it somehow more real and therefore manifest?

Carlin shook the stray thoughts away and looked up to see Keagan watching him uncertainly. “Yeah,” he reassured her finally, not wanting to arouse any more suspicion than he’d probably already had. “I’ll remember that.”

oOo

Floating. The sensation of suspended…nothingness.

The sudden blinding glare of bright, red lights cut through the pleasant haze of buoyancy. Thera blinked awake, then immediately shut her eyes tightly against the glare and exhaled slowly, hating this part the most of all during her routine checks.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor came around the infirmary bed with a smile.

She opened her eyes again and sat up gingerly, taking a second to reorientate her body, then pushed herself off the bed and dug her toes deep into the thick, heavy rug that lay beneath her feet, liking its soft feel.

The clean, white lines of the room shifted into focus. A small table stood next to her small cot, hiding a small crack in the wall. Spartan but familiar.

The superfluous details were always the most comforting after waking up.

Slowly, Thera ran a mental check over her body, pleasantly surprised at how reinvigorated she felt after a period of time spent deeply unconscious on a doctor’s cot. Nothing was hurting; there were no worrying tingles or the sense that her mental faculties were unravelling.

“Like the world’s new again. Everything’s great, thanks.”

“You’d be pleased to know that there is practically no trace of nightsickness left in your body.”

She perked up visibly at the pronouncement. “Really?”

The doctor hesitated, debating his next words. “There have been cases where it recurs, but we have always managed to cure it.”

A slight frown marred her face. “And that was what happened to me?”

He shook off her concern. “It’s a minor case, Thera. Symptoms that make you think you are ill, but not. Nightsickness is a common ailment, a hereditary disorder and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were just feeling the remnants of it. It’s normal sometimes to draw some blanks in your memory. But take things easy in the next few days and you’ll gradually come out of it.”

She nodded slowly, digesting his words. “That’s good to know.”

“Just keep your checks regular, report every little symptom that you have and you’ll be fine,” he told her, already turning to the machines as he studied the results of her scan. “It also helps that the research facility has a clinic that is close to your laboratory.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Oh, and Thera?” The doctor added pointedly, “I would encourage you to take a break from your work. Go back to the city for a few days. It will do you some good.”

She paused, deliberating the coincidence of the doctor’s suggestion. Hadn’t the same thing been on her mind earlier?

“I’ll consider it.”

With a wave of thanks, Thera left, her mind already half on the shipment’s locking mechanism.

The corridor that led back to her laboratory was buzzing with activity, an unusual sight that always meant that something was about to go wrong.

A sudden, shrill shout from down the corridor made her break into a sprint; she turned the corner into her lab to see the warning flashes of a malfunctioning explosive charge on the glossy monitor screens.

“Thera!” The relief was obvious in her assistant’s face. He suspiciously eyed the crate that rested on an elevated platform in the lab, a portent of pending failure. “Energy imprint copy is destabilising and decomposing by the millisecond. Detonation threshold exceeded. I’ve already ordered the support team to evacuate the space.”

Biting down the flare of panic, Thera turned her attention to the energy output at the consoles. The steadily rising energy values had confirmed her assistant’s reports, and completely incongruous to the early calibration gap tests that they’d done.

But why was the energy imprint, a counterfeit of the digital signature of the PPA, already degrading?

Faced with a scenario that wasn’t even supposed to happen, Thera forced a semblance of order upon her jumbled thoughts and brought them to a place where only the basic principles of lock and key existed.

What if the imprint hadn’t been a perfect counterfeit? What if-

She began again, mentally reorganising. More slowly this time, banishing the sounds of rising chaos in the lab.

Getting past the original locking mechanism – a complex but artistic piece of work – required genetic verification and the permissive scans of specific equipment before tightly interlocking metal pieces from within the reinforced shield slid out of its jigsaw and fell apart to reveal the crate’s prized contents. The PPA’s bypass of these systems had been impressive; countering their measures had required careful forging of their digital signature, fired as short, intense pulses at the locking mechanism.

Only that it wasn’t working. Throw the additional risk of Korros unstable core into the mix and the consequences of a failing signature were dire.

_Unless…_

The answer, when it came, slammed into her like a physical blow.

“Recalculate the rate of energy loss and change the value of the pulse wavelength to point three. Ignore the initial fluctuations. Patch the subroutine into the program as soon as you’re done,” she snapped at her assistant, her fingers already flying over the keys on the console with single-minded intent. “The PPA’s bypass system is emitting a highly sensitive wavelength that is reacting with the residue of the counterfeit’s energy pulses.”

The tense silence was cracked by a relieved whoop from the other end of the table.

“Rate of change slowing,” the other scientist reported. “Energy imprint is at original strength.” He turned to her in incredulity. “I think it’s worki-!”

A sharp, metallic ring drowned out his last word. A resonant chorus of interlocked metal pieces slid smoothly away and the large crate fell open silently, its reinforced shield finally collapsing and folding into a much smaller perfect cube of dark earth in which small, luminous green particles sparkled.

“Korros.”

Unknowingly, she’d whispered its name in awe, barely able to pull her gaze away from the glint of green. Even as a speck of dust, its potential was boundless.

It was mesmerising. Beautiful even, never failing to captivate, even if it could have been her hundredth time seeing it. And it took an effort just to focus on what she needed to do.

Reluctantly, Thera pulled back.

“Let’s begin the extraction process.”

oOo

Three hours later, she was still hunched over the samples of purified Korros in her lab, studying the scans on a large screen.

“Still here?”

Thera reluctantly turned away from the green element to face the clear disapproval in Yllara’s voice. “Co-precipitation is not complete,” she pointed out carefully. “And from what I can see, it will be a while yet.”

A soft, exasperated sigh came from across the room. “I spoke to the doctor earlier. He told me that he strongly recommended you take a break. And that, I believe, is a good idea.”

“I’m not nightsick. Not anymore,” she insisted evenly, biting back a rise of defensive arguments against her superior’s suggestion, leaving another part of her chagrined at how the mere mention of the illness riled her easily. The truth was, it was near impossible to react any other way other than with a mix of embarrassment, resentment and anger; nightsickness carried its healthy share of stigmatisation in Neithana where those who displayed the slightest vestiges of it were perceived to be as dangerous as they were unpredictable.

Fortunately, the prominent position – and the isolated facility – in which she found herself had offered a measure of security and secrecy, ensuring that the latest bout of nightsickness that she’d suffered was kept tightly under wraps. But it hadn’t been easy fighting the waves of paranoia and unease that had never left the day she woke up feeling herself again.

Yllara’s voice had gentled once the meaning behind Thera’s words sank in. “I’m not saying you are. It has also been a while since you have returned to the city.”

Gesturing to the samples, Thera played her last card. “But the proc-”

“You did say that the purification process was going to take time.”

Her retort was hurried and a little desperate. “Not as long as the length of time of a vacation.”

A small smile played across Yllara’s lips.

“Perhaps a compromise is in order then. You will be on official business in Neithana for twelve days as an ambassador for the potential of Korros. It’s a science and research symposium that will last a week and there will be talks and conferences that might actually pique your interest. The days, of course, are not going to be all work and no play. Apart from the opening and closing formal ceremony, there will also be sufficient time for you enjoy a proper vacation. The transport to the city leaves in one hour,” Yllara said, then continued in a gentler voice, “Go back, Thera. You’d be surprised what a good break can do for you.”

After a moment, Thera found herself nodding in thoughtful acquiescence. Perhaps there was some truth in Yllara’s words. The idea of spending uninterrupted nights in a comfortable bed in her seldom-used apartment was, at the same time, sounding better and better.

What hurt could it do, anyway?


	5. Pretences

The scraps of fabric on the rotting bodies were soiled and the stench they emanated was beyond human tolerance.

“Take the clothes off.” A voice commanded from the side speaker built into the wall.

Workers rushed to do his bidding, efficiently stripping the torn remnants of the clothes off the limp forms. They worked without any covering, seemingly unaffected by the decay and the rot.

“Now, take these.”

The man in question walked forward and kicked a pile of heavy fabric uniforms that had been dyed a deep, dark green towards the workers. He gestured to the vats of animal fat, drained blood and innards.

“Cover them with blood and mud in these spots, then put them on these bodies.”

They obeyed the orders wordlessly, taking all of ten minutes to finish the unpleasant task. Quickly, the small labour taskforce did what they needed to do, then moved out of the area, a sign that the roon was ready for his inspection.

He nodded in satisfaction and rounded the side of the wall, past the triple-glazed protective glass, his stomach overturning when the stench hit him full in the nose.

It was proving near impossible not to gag.

Drawing in a shallow breath through his lips, he stepped over several blood-stained tiles to where the prone bodies lay and examined each one carefully. A small, circular fabric patch caught his eye and without thinking, he bent forward and ripped it off the overalls to which it was attached, uncaring of the blood that started to stain his hands.

Clutching it firmly within his fingers, he stalked out of the laboratory to the observation room, allowing the ionising radiation beam to do its work. That patch had piqued his curiosity ever since he’d seen it – those tightly woven threads of silver and black that formed a funny pattern of an incomplete triangle with a circle on the top. He rubbed a thumb over the interlocking fabric once and gave some thought to its symbol. An insignia of sorts, perhaps, or a rank that-

The beep signalled the end of the radiation process, cutting short his ruminations on the purpose of the circular scrap. Deciding that it was of no use to him, he tossed it away in a secure disposal bag and turned to the task at hand.

Facing the workers who obediently awaited his instructions, he spoke.

“Now bury all of them at the edge of the Gaszril pass.”

He watched the workers leave with a slight grimace that twisted his face, wondering idly how long it would take to scrub the blood and the dirt out from under his fingernails.

oOo

The setting sun had cast the evening sky in a riotous mix of red, orange and purple, but the colours were fast fading as the numerous lights in the ever-busy city of Neithana surfaced in the encroaching darkness.

Twenty storeys up above in a newly-constructed administrative building in Neithana’s core district, Thera leaned against the balustrade and took in the breathtaking sight of the city skyline. At this elevation, the distant noises of the vehicles and transporters were muffled, the city’s buzzing activity a surreal creation of the senses. Mezzanines jutted unevenly out from the sides of buildings, linked by air bridges and short walkways, illuminated by the garish flashes of holographic advertisements and scrolling news reports.

Thera exhaled slowly, absently letting her eyes focus on the flashing lights that burned a multitude of colours on her retinas.

The break had, in truth, turned out to be more than beneficial. Noise, pollution and all. The drawbacks of urban living, merely tolerated by city-dwellers because it afforded them the convenience of amenities and all manner of entertainment possibilities.

In the few days that she’d taken to reacquaint herself with the city, she’d made a dent in her old stomping grounds, called a friend to whom she’d not spoken in ages and slept as much as she needed in her small, musty city apartment that was sorely lacking a human presence. For just how long a stretch had she really holed herself up in the white rooms of the research institute that she now behaved like a country-dweller?

With a frown, Thera realised she couldn’t remember.

In fact, she’d missed the exhilarating rush that came with city living, having found herself enjoying every moment of it.

In spite of the lingering traces of smog that the air scrubbers couldn’t fully eliminate and the slight chill that was programmed into the filtration systems to signal the drop in night temperatures.

Even if it came with the clause that she attended several formal award presentations or inauguration ceremonies that weren’t directly related to her field of study. Dressing up had been less of a bother. Attending yet another mindless ceremony was painful, not just because of the length of time spent sitting on her ass, but also because of the memories it evoked of-

A sudden faint whiff of cloying fragrance brought her out of her thoughts and announced the presence of the most powerful man in the city. He wore expensive cologne that smelled overly manufactured, the sort that always made her sneeze.

Her eyes began to water slightly as her nose twitched, as though recognising the irony of the moment. A quick swipe over the bridge of the nose would have to suffice.

“Thera. Just the person I was looking for.”

She was unprepared for the strong dislike that seemed to have risen out of nowhere, particularly for a man who had been responsible for giving her project due prominence, no less. Frowning, Thera scrabbled for a basis for that unfounded emotion, only to grasp at fleeting tendrils of elusive memories that simply slipped out of her reach.

Fixing a passable smile on her face that she hoped looked genuine, she turned in greeting. “Administrator Calder,” she said evenly, then added almost as an afterthought, “it’s my honour to serve.”

Calder looked her once over in open appreciation, his eyes widening slightly at the formal robes clinging to curves that her usual choice of attire seldom revealed. “You look beautiful.”

Her expression didn’t waver. “Thank you,” she answered politely, tilting her chin up minutely as she resisted curling her arms around her middle.

“It is a beautiful night.”

It was like any other, really. For as long as people lived under the shield and its carefully-regulated air systems. But to say that would signal the start of small talk and it was the last thing she wanted.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed noncommittally.

“I have to say, it is good to see you here again, Thera. We were starting to think that you have decided to make the research institute your permanent home.”

She studied him silently, trying to determine the sincerity of his words and ran through a dozen answers that ranged from diplomatic to impolite. It felt natural to opt for the former. “It’s good to be back, Administrator.”

The smile on Calder’s face broadened. “Let me take the opportunity to say,” he went on, “how excited I am personally to read about your progress in your research.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

But Calder was already ploughing on. “As you have already, so convincingly established that your preliminary ideas would work, I believe our investors in the project would be absolutely thrilled to witness the tangible…shall we say…proof of them.”

So this was leading somewhere, Thera thought, wordlessly inclining her head in cautious acknowledgement.

“Seeing as your progress has been extraordinary, what then, would you say then, to a small-scale demonstration of your experiment?” Calder asked, then sought to clarify himself. “A trial of sorts, a hint of things to come.”

Thera blinked.

The way he’d said it told her it wasn’t so much as a request but an order. But whatever she had expected Calder to say, it wasn’t this. Yet she knew that it was only a matter of time until the higher powers – the project’s unnamed investors as well as the Administration’s anonymous supporters of it – started to demand quantifiable results apart from reports of her successful lab simulations.

Still, she hesitated.

Theoretically, it’d work. On paper, the way the calculations came together was a thing of beauty. She’d extrapolated the lab results numerous times in order to realistically predict the outcome of an experiment conducted over a much larger scale. But a field demonstration of Korros’s power was a far cry from running a simulation in the contrived and controlled settings of her lab, and a test that ran successfully within the variable conditions of the external environment would go a long way in validating the project’s feasibility as well as her credibility.

It was also as dangerous as it could get. Not that she shied away from a dangerous challenge despite her tendency to err on the side of caution, but Korros wasn’t just an element that was Neithana’s power source. It was a core subject in science andin history classes and also a tool of leverage in politics, shaping and destroying ambitions of those who desired to harness its power. For an uncomfortable moment, Thera wondered about her place in all of this. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed impossible _not_ to anticipate that Calder would have had, at some point in time down the line, asked for a field demonstration. She should have been thankful that he hadn’t asked for it sooner.

“I will of course, leave the necessary setup to you and your team. All the resources that you need will be yours to command,” Calder said and raised a forefinger in a conspiratorial manner. “Convince them and the research facility might find itself in a position where funds are more readily available. Think of this as a…compromise. A small obstacle, shall we say, for the sake of sustaining the project.”

The knot in her stomach got just a bit tighter as his words sank in. But she inhaled sharply and met his gaze as best as she could without flinching.

“I’ll get it set up, Administrator.”

Calder smiled thinly in satisfaction. “Excellent. Thera, you never let me down. I look forward to this demonstration. And now,” he gestured expansively, his eyes falling to a point between her chin and waist, “would you like to come inside? The ceremony is about to begin.”

Thera suddenly wished that there was something stronger to imbibe after their short conversation. Nodding once, she said, “Just give me five more minutes and I’ll be right in.”

“I will be waiting.” With a wink, he turned on his heel, the swish of his heavy brocade coat gently brushing the heavy fabric of her own robes.

As soon as he’d disappeared inside, Thera grimaced and tugged her attire _upwards_ and turned back to look at the urban sprawl, pursing her lips in consternation. Yet it wasn’t five minutes later that the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears again.

“What now?” She called out, annoyed at the second interruption.

“Excuse me, everyone’s called to gather at…” the voice trailed off in disbelief as she whipped around with a scowl on her face, only to see the silver-haired man who’d helped deliver the Korros shipment standing right behind her.

His mildly shocked expression quickly shifted into a mocking smirk.

“My, what a coincidence,” he drawled, “if it isn’t…the _lady_.”

She felt herself flush at the nickname that he’d used for her at their last meeting. “Didn’t I say, quite clearly, that my name was-”

“Thera Arann,” he supplied, barely suppressing a roll of his eyes.

“So you remember.”

If he heard the sarcasm bleeding through, he’d chosen to ignore it.

“Nice get-up by the way,” he told her with a quirk of a brow and a grin.

Settling for a glare, Thera turned her own gaze to his attire. He was dressed from head to toe in nondescript black, with stealth weapons strapped to his lean hips and a wire device placed unobtrusively around his head. Security perhaps, she thought, seeing as he obviously wasn’t dressed for the ceremony. Even then, he cut too much of a striking figu-

“See what you like?” His voice broke off her runaway thoughts, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else that she wasn’t able to put her finger on.

Hurriedly, she whipped her eyes upwards and glared, but he wasn’t waiting for a response. Instead, he placed a heavy hand on her arm, as though listening to a conversation to which she wasn’t privy. By the time he’d turned his attention back to her, the amused look on his face was wiped clean, replaced by a hard, steely gaze that left her unsettled and thrilled in equal parts.

“Get back in,” he said sombrely. “Follow the rest out.”

In the next second, his grip had tightened on her arm as he marched her out of her balcony refuge and into a bewildered crowd that was being herded out of the room and the building.

Her hard tug on his sleeve made him pause.

“What?” He asked irritably, looking discomfited to see her watchful gaze burning through him, a look that said, without words, that she was expecting nothing less than an explanation.

“What’s going on?”

He sighed and hesitated, as though suspecting that she wasn’t about to let this go until he said something.

“Look, we’re going to do a sweep of the place. There are stray rumours of an explosive device in the vicinity, but until we find something, they stay as rumours,” he told her distractedly, his attention already divided between her and the loud, rapidfire chatter of his team in his wireless device.

“Without causing undue panic. I understand.”

Thera silently absorbed the situation with the slight quirk of her lips, not missing the look of surprise that flitted across his face. As unprepared as she was for dark thrill of excitement that had coursed through her when he’d told her about the bomb scare, it had simply thrown into stark relief a problem that she couldn’t shrug off as many of her colleagues in the research institute had blithely chosen to do so. The PPA threat was more real than she’d imagined. It had to be, if they called in the hotshot security guys to sweep the place.

Finally he let go of her arm, taking a second longer than he should to watch her blend into the leaving crowd before he sprung into action.

The last she saw of him as the door closed behind her was him barking orders into his link as his team started their security sweep of the place.

oOo

“All clear, Sir.”

“Copy.”

Jonah severed the link after acknowledging the team’s efforts, and made his way back up to the fancy hall where the ceremony was supposed to have taken place.

The rumour of a security breach turned out to be just a rumour. Not that he was expecting anything else, truth be told. The security level ran proportionally in tune to the level of paranoia that had gripped the Administration ever since PPA’s last attempt at the Korros seizure and suddenly, an armed security escort seemed necessary for every excursion that an official made.

By the time the security sweep was finished and the people ushered back in, Calder had called for the ceremony to be postponed. Jonah hadn’t bothered to hide his sigh of relief that soon turned into an inward groan when it looked as though Calder was launching into an impromptu speech before his adoring audience.

The last thing he wanted was a difficult night out when Cuinn had called him in an emergency to take over a shift at one of the numerous Administration’s formal ceremonies. It was supposed to be an easy one, or at least what he’d been told by a man who badly needed the time for a wife and his newborn daughter.

Jonah had agreed, after all, by virtue of the fact that he was considered a swinging bachelor by the rest of the team and lured, in addition, by the rare prospect of finally working inside a city he loved rather than in the icy wilderness beyond the dome. The bar that he frequented weekly could do without his usual presence today. Moreover, an accidental run-in with a beautiful but highly-strung scientist had actually made the evening a little more interesting.

Unobtrusively, Jonah cast another watchful glance all around him, a slight grin crooking the corners of his mouth when he caught sight of Thera Arann edging closer to one of the pillars that bordered the exit.

He glanced at the space that separated her from her getaway and made a split-second decision.

oOo

“Looking for a break again?”

Thera barely managed not to jump in surprise when he spoke into her ear and whipped around immediately to glare at him.

He was looking no less tense than he had earlier, despite the casualness of his stance. The rifle that was now slung over his back so openly was giving her a clear idea of the threat level that they were facing.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she retorted and tried to take a steadying breath, not wanting to think about how it was his nearness – no, his lack of basic courtesy, she corrected herself – that had just helped send her pulse veering on a gallop.

“It becomes my business when some guest decides to run out,” he countered her calmly, not bothering to explain any further. Instead, he switched subjects. “It’s such a pity, by the way.”

The sudden shift made her blink. “What? That the ceremony was cancelled?”

His response was a mirthful, sideways glance and a shrug.

“A pity that a lady like you has got a hot temper to boot to match your looks, and a pity that you’d never get to show off that cute, blue number you’re got on for a little longer.”

A mocking tilt of her lips told him just what she thought of his rejoinder.

“Just what are you anyway? An expert on women?”

He barked a laugh in the face of her frosty retort.

“An expert on women? Nah. I just like ‘em,” he said casually but his prolonged glance at her outfit as anything but cursory. “But I've got a little problem with scientists.”

Two could play that game, Thera thought, as their early antagonistic tangle over the recovered shipment came back to mind.

“Just as well seeing as I have a little problem with-” she trailed off purposefully, an unpleasant smile forming on her face as she raked him with the same, bold glance he’d just given her, “-military guards like you.”

Now _this_ , Thera was enjoying immensely.

He nodded with a knowing smile when she gave it back to him as good as she got. “I’m guessing the guns just get to you, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t be worried. What _gets_ to me is not something you’ll ever know,” she replied with an arched brow, fighting to ignore the heady feel of getting caught in an argument that wasn’t science-related with a good-looking stranger on top of it.

If anything, the grin that stretched his face grew even wider, deepening the dimples at the sides of his face. “Oh yeah?”

Thera was about to open her mouth to reply when the scattered applause signalled the end of the speech, halting her planned comeback. She watched, fascinated, as his demeanour subtly changed, his intense gaze sharpening as he lightly tapped his earpiece and listened. When he finally turned back to her, his face had slipped back into a neutral, guarded expression as he finally motioned her towards the doorway.

“So, free to go. The exits are open,” he paused, as though weighing his next words. “Sweet dreams, _lady_.”

She looked at the podium. Calder was still talking but he looked – finally – like he was winding down.

“Wh-”

The bewilderment lasted a second before understanding dawned. It was a disconcerting surprise to learn that some time had actually passed while they…exchanged words. Time that would have otherwise been spent in desperate boredom.

Or perhaps it had been his intention all along. The distraction – as outrageous as it had been – he’d provided had ensured that she stayed entertained until the end of Calder’s long speech, even if it was an unusual but effective method of containing all the guests within a space while security hovered over them.

And somehow, she just knew. Just like the inexplicable connection that seemed to materialise each time they meet.

A snort of disbelief escaped her lips. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He asked her innocently without missing a beat before he strode away, presumably to check in with his team.

“Hey!”

The exclamation was out of her mouth before she could purse her lips shut, her disgruntled yell stopping him in mid-stride.

But he simply turned his head to send her a sloppy, two-fingered salute before swiftly disappearing around the stairwell, leaving her still staring in outraged speculation after him, the way he did the last time.


	6. A Comedy of Errors

His heart leaped at the sight, then dropped straight down to his stomach, the unusual feeling of personal failure leaving him light-headed and torn between wanting to hit something and yelling his frustration. In the end, Jonah did neither, choosing instead to take a large gulp of his drink as the noise built to a crescendo in the cramped spaces of his usual watering hole.

A wry laugh from the man behind the counter didn’t help.

“It was always said to be the most difficult game of the season.”

Jonah snorted and made a vague gesture of irritation towards the slow replay on the holographic screen that showed human-sized figures crashing into each other just as the puck flew past the finishing line, drawing euphoric shouts and cries from the opposing team’s supporters.

As if on cue, a sea of blue, red and green flags flooded half of the cavernous hall in a riot of colour as Jonah sourly tried to tune out their celebratory cries.

“You’d think they would have learnt from their mistakes, Sull,” he exclaimed in exasperation, receiving in turn, a small, placating smile from a man who had seen the whole gamut of human emotions from behind the bar counter. “They’re still making bad defensive moves when they get close to finishing.”

“Some say it’s nerves,” the bartender replied and nodded at a group of men near the entrance. “According to Dolan and Konej over there.” He gestured to the empty glass in Jonah’s tight grip. “Can I get you more?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Sull obliged, filling the glass with frothy purple-liquid that turned blue when it settled.

As tempted as Jonah was to throw in the towel for the night, there was still the third quarter of the game to air and with it, stayed the impossible hope that _his_ team would have finally picked up some nerve to overthrow the opposition. Moreover, he wasn’t about to give up the institution of spending a quiet, relaxing evening at his usual entertainment venue at the end of a long, hard week.

Testily, he settled himself more comfortably in his regular seat in the corner and was lifting the glass to his mouth when the sudden heavy overtones of a musky fragrance stung his nostrils. Jonah stilled, flicking his eyes up to meet the gaze of the smirking bartender who winked and immediately moved away to give him more privacy.

“You look lonely.” A low, sultry feminine voice spoke over his shoulder.

Jonah suppressed a sigh as a warm hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

It could only mean one thing.

And seeing as he wasn’t looking for anything other than a night of sports and the familiar, comforting burn of alcohol, the woman’s attention was unwelcome.

Jonah turned slowly, pasting a polite smile on his face, keeping his expressions bland as he took her in.

Brunette, long-haired, voluptuous, sort-of pretty. And completely tanked, he surmised, if her glazed eyes and the cloud of alcohol surrounding her were anything to go by.

“I’m Junig. So, you lonely?” She repeated.

“Not exactly,” he told her honestly, raising his glass slightly in her direction as though making a toast. “But thanks for asking.”

He moved slightly away from her, raising his brows when she moved along with him, standing just so that his view of the holographic screen was obstructed by a prominent cleavage. Without much effort, he turned his eyes away from the abundant flesh, a small action that Junig didn’t fail to notice.

“I could be as interesting as the game you’re watching,” she purred, pushing in closer to slide an arm around his neck, misconstruing the lack of interest for coyness. “In fact, I can make it worth your while.”

Her persistence was more amusing than flattering.

“Not tonight, love,” he told her casually, then moved extricate himself from her grip just as his corner half of the bar erupted in shouts and loud cheers.

Horrified, Jonah realised that he’d not only just missed the point his team had scored, but that her…substantial assets were also preventing him from watching the replay.

At the counter, money was changing hands quickly. He sneaked a desperate look at the counter, seeing Sull already briskly refilling the glasses of the jubilant supporters with a self-satisfied look on his face.

“God,” Jonah groaned, shutting his eyes as though in pain, wondering what exactly constituted a gentlemanly action during a time like this. Then he quickly opened his eyes again and tried to look past her, catching a glimpse of the replay’s last second before it blinked out of sight.

“What, you don’t want this?” She asked in disbelief, holding her ground.

It wasn’t as though she wasn’t attractive, he admitted grudgingly to himself. But if anything, the untimely interruption was making him irritated and bearish instead of turned on. Briefly, he considered shoving her off, then dismissed the idea.

The excited shouts were getting louder. And that meant only one thing. The game was reaching fever pitch. Jonah craned his neck, found it fruitless and finally moved to get up, stopped only by an insistent hand on his chest.

“You won’t regret this.”

He heard the challenge in her voice. Had it been any other night, he wouldn’t have backed down. Just not tonight. Not when the team was on the verge of finally winning the coveted trophy that they hadn’t won in eighty-four years.

Perhaps being his usual blunt self would work, Jonah thought in resignation. “Actually, I might,” he told her impatiently.

“For you,” she eyed him speculatively, “it’s free.”

What was it with the dammed persistence of this Junig woman?

Enough.

He rolled his eyes and snapped, “Look, I’m flattered as hell that you’ve chosen me for your little…whatever, but I just want to watch the game, alright? That’s what I’m here to do on this-”

The hard splash of ice-cold liquid on his face brought him to a sputtering stop. Stunned into a few seconds of silence, Jonah cast a quick look at the empty glass next to him, then flicked his eyes up to the woman who was sauntering away from him.

_What the fuck just happened?_

Outrage stirred his frozen limbs into motion and he lunged forward to grab her arm, stopping her in her tracks as the remnants of the frothy liquid flowed off his face and onto his neck.

“What the hell was that all about?” He hissed in a low voice, ignoring the disapproving stares from the neighbouring tables.

She twisted around to face him. “I’m sure you can guess.”

Was this a joke? The stupidity of the situation bore down on him; resentfully, he knew his night was ruined, game or not, trophy or not.

“Guess? No, no, I can’t!” Jonah raised his voice in growing irritation, suddenly not caring that the small altercation was drawing unwanted attention. Struck by the sheer…childishness of the stupid argument in which he’d been caught, he still found he didn’t want to give an inch. “I don’t even know you! As I said, all I was looking for was-”

A cool, familiar voice interrupted his tirade. A voice that he recognised at once and even though it was one with which he’d only recently come to be acquainted.

“Is he bothering you, Ma’am?”

Slowly, he released his grip on the woman’s arm and turned right to face Thera Arann, who had seemingly materialised out of nowhere to stand next to the woman who’d just flung his precious drink at him.

Where the hell did she come from? But Jonah found that he wasn’t too bothered with seeking out an answer to that particular question, especially not when another petulant, drunk-as-hell woman was getting on his nerves. He gritted his teeth in annoyance and deliberately raked his eyes down her form before bringing them up to meet her steady challenge.

“Stay out of this, _sweet puss_.”

It was an insult that would rile her and Jonah knew it.

As he expected, she bristled at the nasty dismissal and that demeaning term. “What I’m seeing is potential assault, so I think I’ve the right to intervene in this domestic spat,” she told him coolly.

He mentally echoed Thera’s words. Assault? Was that the only thing she thought he was capable of?

Her low opinion was beyond infuriating and if he were honest enough, it stung more than the Junig woman’s indignant and showy reaction to his refusal of her proposition.

“I don’t even know her!”

An unpleasant smile formed on Junig’s face as she faced Thera. “Actually, now that you’ve said it, he’s left me quite…bothered.”

“I’m not done with this,” he said with clenched teeth, raising his hand to grip Junig more firmly on the upper arm to glare at her. “With you.”

“I say you are.”

A ferocious snarl from behind made Jonah turn but he’d barely caught sight of an unfamiliar man barrelling towards him before a punch flew from the man’s outstretched arm and landed straight in the middle of his jaw. He staggered with the impact, righted himself, swung and returned the blow without hesitation just as the noise in the bar escalated into a mass of panicked screams and surprised cheers.

Where he was nimbler and trained, his opponent more than made up for it with bulk and strength. Dimly, he heard the man yelling that he keep his dirty paws of the woman who’d just propositioned him. The accusatory shout was followed by a retaliatory swing to the face that he intercepted easily, grabbing the other man’s beefy fist with both hands and reversing the movement until they were both bent and twisted.

The force from another moving body slammed into his side and sent him sprawling – an unknown variable in an equation on which he hadn’t counted. Jonah got up again, sparing a quick, surprised look at the utter chaos in the bar where fights were beginning to erupt in the surrounding tables…and flung himself back into the fray.

Great. First, caught in the middle of another couple’s domestic squabble that he wasn’t even privy to when all this shit began. Now, he just didn’t know what the hell he was doing other than trying to defend himself.

Propelled by the sting of Thera’s words and the frustration that came from a ruined evening, his punches were hard and sharp until he felt his shoulders sharply yanked back by a pair of hands. Jonah stumbled backwards when the grip on his shoulders was suddenly released, feeling the sharp edge of the bar counter dig into his back as the fog cleared in his mind.

Around him, glass had been shattered and furniture destroyed…surely he’d not been the only one responsible for this?

The familiar and thoroughly thrashed furnishings of the city bar slipped suddenly into an image of a similar bar brawl in some other place that left him blinking in confusion.

_O’Malley’s._

What?

Jonah forced that strange word away and focused on the present. Sull’s grim face was the first thing he saw when he looked up. Next to him was Thera who, he was vaguely surprised to observe, also sported a rapidly-swelling black eye and a grazed cheek.

Under different circumstances, he would have felt sympathy. Perhaps even outrage. But things were different today, Jonah thought uncharitably. She was nursing as many bruises as he was, although he doubted the sports game mattered to her as much as it did to him.

Well, who asked her to poke her pretty nose in where it wasn’t wanted?

It was less than a minute later when he found himself unceremoniously chucked out of his favourite and only watering hole with Thera Arann, told bluntly never to return and that the bill for the damages would soon be sent to his home.

The game long forgotten, Jonah stared off into the distance down a side street, noting with resentful annoyance that Junig and her beefy partner were walking away, once again lost in each other as she fawned over her man’s injuries.

Shrugging his jacket more tightly around himself, he ignored the frowning woman at his side and made for home, grimacing as the pain in his knee started acting up.

But apparently, she wasn’t done.

“Hey you!”

Thera walked quickly after him, moving to grab his arm in a similar manner Junig had done, only to relinquish her hold on him when he turned and glared pointedly at the spot where her hand touched his arm.

“What?”

“Where are you going?” The stupidity of the question dawned on her just as it left her mouth, but somehow she hadn’t wanted to leave him alone with his injuries. “You’re hurt.”

“Ya think?”

“Well, yes, I think,” she parroted him just as sarcastically as he’d bit out his rhetorical question.

“I’ll deal,” he said curtly and resumed his quick walk, irritation making his movements more jerky than usual.

“At least let me look at them,” she insisted.

“For god’s sake, _lady_ ,” he huffed, purposely using the term that he knew she disliked and stopped so abruptly that she walked past him. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Look, I’m sorry if I interfered,” she told him contritely, choosing for once to ignore the term he’d stuck on her. “But I wasn’t sure that you didn’t know that woman until I overheard her confessing later that you were just someone she picked up to make another man jealous.”

Swell. He’d had enough ego bruising for a night. And that wasn’t even counting the physical wounds yet.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t blame me for being suspicious. You would have done the same,” she pointed out.

“Nice of you to act before finding out the truth,” he said acidly. “And what the hell were you doing there anyway?”

**oOo**

It happened to be a question that she’d also been asking herself. Thera matched his long strides as they walked down the road that presumably led to his home.

“I had a night off. And the bar that you were in is famous around town for the atmosphere and its drinks. So I thought to visit.”

The truth was, she’d been bored stiff and the impulsive bid to be more spontaneous had led her down the grid of streets that made up Neithana’s entertainment quarter. Walking into a bar that was fairly well known had been yet another act of throwing caution to the wind under the pretence of finding some normalcy. But if the amount of time spent cloistered in her lab had made her increasingly less of a social creature, she’d been entirely unprepared to find the entertainment quarter downright intoxicating and built entirely for human pursuits that ranged from the tame to the debauched.

Not that she was ever going to tell him that.

“Coincidence of coincidences.”

“It’s the truth,” she said in exasperation.

“Oh yeah.” He made an abrupt right turn without warning, walked up to the large, imposing front door of a building and stopped before the recognition-lock device.

Only then did Thera realise that they had walked into one of the city’s quieter suburbs that she hadn’t even known existed. With some alarm, she realised that she couldn’t remember the layout of Neithana as well as she thought. And if nightsickness wasn’t to blame…then what could-

There had to be a logical reason for this.

Even if most of her time was spent in the facility and in that apartment of hers somewhere across town, it was impossible to have thoroughly forgotten the streets around which she’d grown up. The beep of the recognition program followed by the quiet click of the door interrupted her silent, but panicked musings.

Jonah stepped into the lobby of the apartment complex, attempting to shut the main door in her face but on impulse, she wedged her foot in space between the threshold and the closing door.

He eyed her with incredulous disbelief. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

“I’m coming in,” she said firmly, ignoring the raised brows on his scratched and swollen face, knowing hers didn’t look any better. “With you.”

“I don’t give a damn what you want, _lady_.”

“Sure. I’ll just stand here and keep shouting until your neighbours start to think the worst,” she challenged.

Jonah clenched his jaw in frustration. Hard. Finally he relented, taking his weight off the door so abruptly that she stumbled inside. Swallowing some expletives, Thera mutely followed him in with a withering glare that softened into grudging wonder when she saw his dwelling.

The apartment was impressive, a creative meld of exterior and interior spaces so that it looked like he lived outdoors instead of indoors. Woods and trees, Thera thought absently. Not that she’d seen them much as she grew up under the protective cover of a dome. Yet his dwelling reminded her of…some kind of openness and freedom that couldn’t be found within the streets of the city.

“This is beautiful,” she said before she could help it.

“Thanks,” he replied shortly and sank immediately down onto his settee.

She took a deep breath and took a hard look at him, assessing his condition. Time to get down to business, she told herself, as unpleasant as he might be. Scratches and bruising on the face and from the way he was cradling his wrist, possibly a fracture or a sprain.

“Where’s your medical kit?”

“Don’t you have other things to-” He tried again, then shut his mouth when she threw him another irritated look.

“Med kit,” she repeated pointedly.

He returned her glare, mildly surprised to see her return it, then grudgingly replied, “In some cupboard on the left down the hallway.”

The sound of her quiet footsteps across the apartment’s spacious living room lulled him into a light doze; the sting of antiseptic lotion as she swiped a particularly bad patch soon after jerked him awake.

“Ow!”

“It stings. But that’s normal,” she stated unnecessarily, her hands steadily swiping the lotion on his face, seemingly oblivious to the intimidating glare that hadn’t left his face. “Oh, I still don’t know your name.”

Startled, he blinked around the cotton swab that was currently pressed against the chafed skin near his eyebrows.

“Jonah Tuvall,” he groused. “I thought you knew.”

“I’d tell you mine, but you already know it. So, you work in security?”

Jonah smirked despite himself, appreciating the poor attempt at conversation she was making. For some reason, this…tense, blond scientist with an irritable nature threw him for a loop somehow even though they hadn’t met on the best of terms. She was hot, something he noticed from the very start, but what drew him to her was something more – a sort of familiarity about her – that he still couldn’t put his finger on. Or perhaps it was her altogether _sparkling_ personality, that combination of spirited rudeness under which lay some measure of kindness and driven ambition that was entirely too attractive.

“You could say that,” he hedged. How many people actually wanted to know their planet faced more dangers apart from the glaring problem of the lack of energy resources?

“You’re more than a security guard,” she said knowingly, then reached for the bandage.

He allowed her to examine his hand and conceded, “Counter-insurgency forces. I lead one of the teams.”

It made sense now – his accompanying the Korros delivery in person, the security round up at the ceremony and god knew what else that had him work behind the scenes so that the city maintained its delicate equilibrium. So he was more important than he made himself out to be, a hot-shot security guy in the elite forces, probably with a direct channel to Calder if he needed.

Which also explained the fancy apartment that befitted his status and rank.

Thera chose not to reply, focusing instead on applying healing salve and wrapping the bandage. It merely took her a moment. “Done. I’d recommend a day off at least.”

“You’d actually make a decent nurse,” he casually commented, gently flexing the sore joint so that he could study the meticulous figure-eight turns of the bandage that she’d made around his wrist. “This ain’t too bad at all. Never took you to be someone who knew how to patch people up,” he eyed her carefully. “Now, your turn.”

Thera allowed him to do the same, sitting in pensive silence as he gently ran the cotton swabs over her bruises and cuts.

His voice broke the hush that had befallen the apartment. “Where’d you learn this, by the way?”

“Learn what?”

“This,” he said and waved a hand impatiently over his face. “Patching people up properly. It’s not a skill the average man on the street has.”

She thought seriously about his question, only to realise that she hadn’t quite known where she learned what she’d just done with his injuries. But then, a period of memory loss after a bout of nightsickness was a common side effect, wasn’t it?

Not that she’d ever reveal that.

The lie came more easily to her than it should have. “I was a playful kid. Got injured often and needed patching up like you did. I thought it best to learn something useful after numerous visits to the doctor.”

“I can imagine.” Jonah grinned unexpectedly, making her breath catch. “Okay, wait here.” The smile was quickly replaced by a yawn as he stood up, crossed the living space and disappeared down a small corridor.

He returned after a few seconds, bearing a heavy blanket over his shoulders that he tossed at her. “I figured it’d be rude of me to show you the door when you’ve just done this,” he told her, vaguely indicating the wounds she’d cleaned and disinfected, “so there’s a couch or the guestroom if you want to stay over. Bathroom’s that way.”

Uncertainty warred with anticipation as she absently fingered the smooth material of the quilt and watched him disappear down the corridor once more, seemingly leaving her to her own devices and decisions.

For a moment, she sat, motionless, clutching the quilt in indecision. What had she really hoped to achieve when she’d stuck her foot in his doorway, apart from wanting to help fix his injuries? And had that really been the only motivating factor – apart from the fact that he got on her nerves?

Jonah Tuvall seemed to be a rather…interesting man, and a justifiably honourable one after tonight’s turn of events. But nonetheless, he was a stranger and one whom she’d only seen a handful of times. Then why did it feel as though she could trust him when it really mattered most?

The front door of his apartment beckoned invitingly but the urge to get clean was stronger. Moreover, living on the other side of town would mean that it’d be the early hours of the morning before she got back and frankly, she’d had quite enough excitement for a night.

She put aside the quilt and made her way to the bathroom, telling herself that a harmless night on a stranger’s couch was going to rank as one of the most impulsive decisions she’d be making tonight. And something so out of character from the Thera Arann who calculated every step, weighed the consequences and second-guessed herself.

What hurt could it do?

Thera exited the bathroom, unfolded the blanket and tried to get comfortable.


	7. Administratively speaking

Calder took a glance at the expanse of the city from the windows of his office, then turned as the whoosh of the door sliding open echoed through the luxurious space.

“Brenna.” He tilted his lips up slightly in greeting, distastefully eyeing the dirt that stained a corner of her sleeve.

Her head was slightly bowed and her feet were close together. A stance of respectful supplication. Or at least an appearance of it.

“Administrator.”

Calder breezed past her to the console that scrolled the daily readouts of the city’s energy production, punched in a few commands and carefully schooled an interested and benign expression on his face.

“I’d like to know how our workers in the mines are doing. Two of them, to be more specific. Carlin and Tor, I believe?”

A pause, then an intangible shift from the woman who stood quietly before him.

“Yes, Sir. They are adjusting well to the workload and the conditions in the mines, Administrator.”

He cut to the chase, going straight to the only thing that interested him. “Any more…hints of nightsickness?”

Brenna took a breath, keeping her gaze downcast. “There has been some resistance to the treatments, and in particular the one who has the gold tattoo on his forehead. But that is probably because their brain chemistry differs slightly from ours.”

“I understand. Do whatever it takes in order to-” he paused, searching for the appropriate words, “-shall we say, encourage them to be fully immersed in their new lives.”

A look of uncertainty crossed her face. “Administrator, it is at this point that I find myself obligated to say that repeated mindstamps would increase the possibility of permanent brain damage as well as neural-”

Calder waved off her explanation before she could finish, smiling blandly. He wasn’t too worried, seeing as how the human mind still somehow insisted on retaining partial aspects of a person’s personality even when their memories were gone. Jonah Tuvall for instance, hadn’t had the insolence hadn’t been bred out of him, Calder thought with grim amusement. But personality traits were harder to change than personal histories and as long as Jonah did what he was supposed to do, he was willing to let the mulish insubordination part of him slide.

“Brenna, if there is some reason that you believe you cannot comply with this order…” Calder left the last part of his sentence unspoken, trusting that she’d understand the subtext perfectly.

She did.

“No, Sir. It’s my honour to serve. But Sir, I do think that we ha-”

He interrupted her with a smooth wave of his arm, gentling his tone deliberately. “Then thank you, Brenna. That’s all I needed to know. And you are doing a marvellous job in the mines. Keep up the good work.”

The dismissal was as clear as day. Left with nothing else to say, she offered a slight nod of acknowledgement. “Yes, Administrator.”

Calder watched her quietly exit, then turned back to the glittering skyline, already lost in thought. Brenna had only confirmed his ambitious hopes for their new workforce – that they’d be integrated into roles that suited them and in turn, work to save their city from spiralling deeper into the ice-age they’d found themselves in.

Or so they thought. He was happy to let them continue thinking that way. After all, it provided sufficient motivation for work, if nothing else.

Already he’d read extraordinary reports of Thera Arann’s scientific discoveries, of the unexpected and astonishing methods that the one who used to be known as Samantha Carter had applied to the scientific teams’ research and of Jonah Tuvall’s charismatic leadership in the counter-insurgency forces.

It was beyond satisfying to see how quickly and easily they’d both slotted in after the first difficult month of repeated mindstamping.

Calder moved back to his console, placed his thumb against the recognition screen and waited. The burst of static followed by a disembodied voice came through the speakers in the next second.

Leaning forward, he spoke quietly into the receiver. “I wish to see Jonah Tuvall.”

oOo

The heavy, sombre air in the SGC hadn’t lifted for months and today, it felt way too stifling. George Hammond unconsciously straightened his tie, his eyes slightly unfocused on the paperwork in front of him as he heaved a sigh.

The briefing room was for once, utterly silent, the chairs neatly pushed under the long table and on its worn, scratched surface, his memories were laid bare. How many times had SG-1 sat in that formation around the head of the table as they went through mission brief after mission brief? How often had they-

The muted sounds of court heels across the concrete floor of the briefing room broke the spell of his morose thoughts and he turned to see the Chief Medical Officer of the base waiting quietly at the top of the staircase.

He found himself grateful for the interruption. “Dr. Fraiser. What can I do for you?”

She hesitated before answering, her discomfort written in the furrow of her brows. “Sir, seeing as the memorial service begins in two hours, I’d like to ask for permission to leave the base and pick up Cassandra from school in time for the ceremony.”

Hammond allowed a small smile to cross his face. Despite SG-1’s disappearance, all around him were still signs of life and hope – embodied by a young alien girl who survived her entire planet – that stubbornly refused to bow in the wake of grief.

“Permission granted.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He watched her turn smartly and spoke before he could help himself. “Has it really been eight months, doctor?”

Janet paused at the top of the stairs and turned back to face him. “Eight months, Sir,” she affirmed.

Hammond nodded ruefully, still staring out through the glass panes of the briefing room and down at the preparations for the memorial service of his finest team. Four caskets and a stellar legacy, too cruelly cut short on a mission that would have been their last.

With a resigned sigh, Hammond spent the next few moments wondering, as he always did, how the hell it had all gone so wrong.

The routine meet-and-greet mission to P3R-118 was supposed to have lasted a week. First contact, handshakes and tentative arrangements for the exchange of technology – the usual rigmarole that had suddenly gone to the dogs.

SG-1 had never walked back through that wormhole and were presumed lost when, according to the Administrator Calder, Major Samantha Carter had insisted on exploring the glaciers and desolate the landscapes that surrounded Neithana.

The SGC’s search for O’Neill and his team had lasted the better half of a year, hindered by several voices in the Pentagon that claimed a precious waste of resources as evidenced by the ever-mounting bills that made their way to the desks of the Joint Chiefs each month. And god knew he’d fought it tooth and nail until they’d threatened a budget cut that would make the search and rescue impossible.

The SG teams that he’d sent out to P3R-118 had brought back the same report – that the inhospitable atmosphere beyond the dome could not sustain any lifeforms. With the promised aid of the Administrator’s elite forces, search and rescue missions had eventually turned into recovery efforts, yielding nothing until a rare, calm day outside the city’s domed shield had brought up a scan of four badly mangled, frozen – and eviscerated – bodies dressed in the remains of in SG-1’s utilities, rending DNA tests and even dental readings inconclusive.

Until now, Hammond wondered if he could have done anything sooner before SG-1’s famed luck ran out. He pushed to his feet and looked through the glass at the silent gate.

“You know, doctor, I’m not someone who gives up too easily. But today…” he shook his head, knowing his shoulders were slumping in defeat, “-is a particularly hard day.”

Frasier’s quiet words cut through the silence. “I know, Sir. Not a day passes without me expecting SG-1 to walk through that Stargate with injuries that require a length of time in the infirmary.”

A reminiscent smile came over Hammond’s face. “I know just what you mean.”

oOo

“Central administration just paged, Jonah. Administrator Calder is looking for you.”

Cuinn’s voice halted Jonah mid-way through to his desk. Grimacing, he turned slowly, mindful of the tender, sore spots in his body and saw the members of his team and Cuinn’s team lounging on their desks. Supposedly doing their reports. And damn, he wanted to join them, as boring as a day of paperwork sounded.

He bit back a sigh, thinking that it was way too early in the morning for this. And Calder was a bigwig whom no one should ignore, although Jonah was tempted to be the first to try. He’d woken up groggily, remembered the events of the past night, rolled his eyes when he saw the rumpled quilt on the empty settee and had tried to go back to bed, only to remember that he had a shift beginning in a few hours. And he certainly wasn’t affected by a blond scientist who had somehow crept under his skin. Had he really thought that she’d stay?

“What’s it about, Cuinn?” He asked irritably.

All he got was a bored, indifferent look in response. “You never know with these things.”

Resigned to a meeting that was probably useless, Jonah turned tail, headed out of the building and made his way to the public transport berth.

The central administration complex in which Calder was cosily ensconced came into sight fifteen minutes later from the windows of the local transport pod. Absently, he stepped onto the lowered platform off the main street and followed its mile-long dip to the civic quadrant. An immediate left turn took him up the imposing staircase in the foyer to the lobby of the impressive building where Calder’s office was. Jonah cleared the security checks with an impatient swipe of his card and bounded up the long corridor to the elevator platform.

The doors finally opened to a man who stared out at the skyline, dressed in the long burgundy-gold robes of the Administration’s highest office.

The truth was, he’d never quite liked Calder, despite the man’s strange fixation with him which his team jokingly took as sign of favouritism after his exploits in the forces had reached the inner sanctum of the Administration. The man was slimy beneath that smooth veneer and he preferred to steer clear of these sorts as much as he could. But that proved impossible when Calder seemed to keep personal tabs on him.

Absently, Jonah thought that the formal attire Calder was clad in always tended towards the showy side. Overdressed was the word that came to mind…just like some other…species that he’d come across before? Pushing that thought away, he stepped forward.

“It’s my honour to serve, Sir.”

The expansive swish of the heavy garment was audible in the cool silence of the office as Calder turned around.

“Jonah,” Calder paused, casting a curious and amused gaze over his face, “I assume that you had gotten involved in…some altercation?”

If a bar fight was ever considered an altercation, Jonah thought. But he preferred to keep that personal detail, well, personal. And of course, Calder had eyes everywhere. He should have known that even this wouldn’t have been kept out of his records.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, to be honest. You wanted to see me, Sir?”

The brisk, business-like tone was back. “Indeed. I have received a few worrying reports of increased security risks to the Korros shipments.”

Jonah frowned. “Even after our last run-in with them?”

“The head of research of our facility, Yllara, has requested a security escort of the subsequent shipments after what happened the last time.”

“Right.” Jonah tapped his fingers against his thigh once, twice. “And I assume that this meeting is to let me know that I’m somehow involved in this?”

The veiled insolence wasn’t lost on Calder. After all, hadn’t it been the exact same manner and a _small_ change in circumstances that had led to Jonah working for him?

He caught the hint of a placating smile. “I know your dislike for science, Jonah.”

“Scien- _tists_. Not science.” Somehow that minute correction seemed necessary. His dislike for that particular band of society was well known among the counter-insurgency forces.

“Whatever your preferences might be, I assure you, that this is not a permanent arrangement.”

He leaned back slightly, putting the weight on his heels as he waited for Calder’s proposed solution. “So what do I do?”

“I’d like your team and Cuinn’s teams to take charge of this operation. And the details can be worked out as you wish.”

That hadn’t sounded like a pressing order, or at least sufficiently pressing to warrant his presence in Calder’s office. But Calder worked in mysterious and controlling ways. Jonah fought not to roll his eyes at that thought.

“Consider it done, Sir.”

“That’s not all, Jonah.”

“There’s more?”

“Of course. The security of the Korros project, as you know, is of paramount importance. Along with accompanying the shipment, there might be…let’s just say…other related engagements in the near future for which the Administration might require your services. Training and surveillance in the Gaszril and in the Telzarin will have to be suspended for the moment.”

Now that was a surprise. “Sir?”

“Let’s just say we are prioritising internal security for now.”

_Internal security?_ Training and surveillance in the Gaszril and in the Telzarin had always been the priority of the counter-insurgency forces, particularly so after the PPA uprisings.

It was clear that there was something Calder wasn’t saying. And that much was obvious even to an idiot.

Perhaps the thud in his head was the really sound of the other shoe. Jonah nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir.”

oOo

The headache wasn’t getting any better. And it wasn’t a good sign for her first day back at work.

Thera pressed a fist against her temple in a fruitless attempt to stop the throbbing as she stared at the decayed samples of Korros element that her assistant had forgotten about in the days that she’d been away in the main city.

Pursing her lips, she tried to reign in her temper at the uncharacteristic show of incompetence from a man of whom she’d always thought highly.

The finicky element had always required the utmost care, especially during the refinement process. Or at least it was the mantra Thera had tried to drill into the number of assistants that had come by her lab hoping for a chance at working with the unstable element. A growl escaped her lips as she fished out the decayed matter and tossed it into the secure disposal bag.

Another one biting the dust and yet another delay in the Korros testing phase. With a disgruntled sigh, Thera started preparing another sample for testing.

“From the way you look, I never would have thought that the short break in the city did you any good.”

Thera snapped her head up to see Yllara lounging at the doorway of the lab, keen eyes surveying the mess on the table. “Yeah.” She was unable to stop the wince that appeared, then lamely joked, “Maybe I should have stayed a little longer.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I…-” Uncertain about how much she wanted to say in front of Yllara, Thera shook her head and decided that less her superior knew of the bungle, the better. “There might have been a calculation error of the ratios of Korros with Delftum salts for coprecipitation. I’m looking through the simulation records now.”

The research and experimentation process was long and sometimes tedious. And Yllara had always shown this measure of understanding when it came to her work, perhaps more so than others, especially when it came to light that her revolutionary hypothesis of running a synthesised compound of pure Korros with the Geltum element through a reactor would produce near-unlimited energy to power a civilisation for millennia.

Thereby relieving the worries of the Administration that Neithana would be freezing over in the future.

When she’d achieved this particular feat with a microscopic amount of the synthesised compound, it was as though the whole damn planet had sat up and taken note. Yet throughout the talks that Thera had given on this scientific breakthrough, she’d always asked for cautious optimism, deferring the effusive praise from the Administration to say that the research facility was still some way from producing a concrete solution to the perpetual energy issues that Neithana seemed to face. In fact, every step of the way was riddled with danger: move the Korros around too much and risk an explosion; miss a nanosecond in the refinement process and a decayed sample was the result; harnessing Geltum particles from subspace too early and Korros would again, decay.

And lately, it seemed that everything – from ratios to calibration to calculations – was riddled with mistakes. So maybe, just maybe, the pressure was starting to get to her.

But Yllara was looking unfazed by her admission. “Can I do anything to facilitate the process?”

Maybe hiring a competent assistant would help, Thera thought and was almost immediately ashamed of the degree of impatience that she felt. Outwardly, she just shook her head. “I’ll manage, thanks.”

The doubtful look that Yllara threw her was warning enough. “Has Marlon been giving you any trouble?”

“No, no. Not really,” she insisted, feeling more tightly-wound than ever. Perhaps a trip to the research centre’s library would give her some answers. Thera worked her jaw and continued, “I just need more time.”

“Administrator Calder’s asking about the latest development in the testing phase.”

So there it was. The purpose behind Yllara’s questions. A beep in the machines behind her helped shatter the growing silence.

She thought for a minute, then spoke. “Tell him things are going as they should. I’ll have a report on your desk by the end of the day.”


	8. Cracks in the Surface

A butterfly beat its wings against his eyes, the flutter inaudible in the sudden, booming noise that made him follow his instincts to crouch and cover his ears.

_Let’s go, Carter!_

It was her! The blond woman who stood next to him, who-

A beam of light pierced the darkness in his head. As though from a distance, he heard himself speaking— _no_ —shouting, over the din of tiny clattering mechanical legs.

He hated spiders. There was a swarm of them crawling all over the bulkhead, onto his face and he yelled his disgust—

_Can we blow this thing yet? Carter!_

A shimmering pool of brilliant blue that matched Carter’s eyes exploded in his face. And then, there was silence. Or so he thought.

He strained his ears.

In the distance, someone was speaking.

He heard a droning, monotonous voice that was strangely calming in the aftermath of the loud noise. Neithana’s landscapes flashed through his mind, destroyed, ravaged in a catastrophe of unparalleled proportions, warring with the pristine skyline that he’d known all his life. He looked down on himself and saw the nondescript black uniform plastered to his skin, wet and sticky.

The world overturned. Grey walls, full of concrete. Miles of corridors that stretched into infinity. A large ring stood at the centre of it all, a spear piercing his shoulder that pinned him to the wall.

And then there was blinding pain. Physical and emotional.

He was certain that he was going to die. Strapped down, on a chair, with a strange weapon pointed at him as he confessed his deepest, dirtiest secret.

_Are you sure there wasn't something else that you're not admitting?_

The voice returned, an anchor in the chaos.

“Your name is Jonah Tuvall. Administrative number 332-449-2.”

_Jonah Tuvall. Jonah Tuvall. Jac-_

He snapped awake in the pitch darkness, panting hard.

It was just a dream. Only a dream.

Recognition replaced wild-eyed disorientation in an instant, his racing heartbeat slowing in the fading adrenaline rush. Adjusted daylight from the dome’s sensors was filtering in through the thin curtains and with a start, Jonah realised that he’d nearly overslept. Slowly, he willed the vivid fragmented images away, pushing back into place the well-defined structures of his daily routine.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time that he’d been trudging through the surreal, nightmarish landscape of his own screwed up mind. In fact, it had been almost a guaranteed consequence of the effects of nightsickness. But they’d faded for a while and he’d slept through the night. The images returned as nightmares nonetheless, catching him unaware and pulled him deep when his defences were shot through.

The doc had warned him about its potential recurrence. The vividness and the increasing frequency of his dreams was probably proof positive of it.

_Goddammit_ , Jonah thought as he sat on the edge of his bed and ran shaking hands through his hair.

Disrupted sleep. Nightmares. A clear sign that everything was going to pot again.

The nightsickness was back.

oOo

“Alby?”

“All clear, Sir.”

Jonah shifted, trying to ease the knot of tension in his neck as he kept a close eye on the passing landscape through the viewport. Pulling the mask over his face, he clambered out of the transport and stood on the viewing platform, scanning for irregularities in the Gaszril pass.

Only when he was satisfied that all looked as it should did he return to the welcoming warmth of the transport’s interior and take his seat.

Strangely enough, he’d volunteered his team for the first escort run to the facility, then scheduled Cuinn’s team for the next shipment escort. Cuinn had only been too happy to comply, his time off in the city remaining uninterrupted.

If Jonah were completely honest with himself, it was his burgeoning fixation with Thera Arann that had made him jump at this opportunity to see her again in whatever situation he could.

And he didn’t even like scientists. So why the hell was she taking up a large portion of his concentration?

Jonah shook his head slightly, then looked up to see the rest of his team giving him a look. He hadn’t been in the best of moods and his team knew it. But they were understanding enough to let his bad mood slide, something for which he was always grateful.

“What?” He barked in chagrin, seeing the mix of concern and speculative interest in their faces.

“Never seen you so preoccupied before.”

He snorted. “Keir, it’s called _thinking_ , if you haven’t noticed by now.”

Keir shrugged. “Even then.”

Darius, the freckled face, curly-haired blond was looking at him in a way he didn’t like at all. It reminded him too much of an all-knowing child who stared down his parents.

“Sir, what’s up?”

Jonah knew that he should have taken offense at the way they were questioning him but it was that additional bit of leeway, trust and freedom between the ranks that he’d sought to establish when he’d first taken charge. Now, he was starting to regret it, despite their obvious concern for him.

“Nothing,” he grunted.

“You came back to work with a bruised face and say it’s nothing?” Darius prodded in disbelief.

They were cornering him, Jonah realised and he didn’t like their ribbing one bit. Not when it brought the image of a blond but surly scientist into his head—the very same person whom he was trying to put out of his mind.

“Drop it.”

“It’s not nothing, Jonah,” Keir insisted.

“And there was only one other time we saw him this way and that was when-”

Realising that they wouldn’t let it go until he said something, Jonah finally gave in. “I got into a fight at the bar,” he told them and added brusquely, “and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“And?”

“And what?” He snapped.

“You’re an easy-going man, Silver,” Keir put in knowingly. “Unfazed by many things, least of all a bar fight. God knows you could easily take on a couple of rowdy drunks watching a game. There’s something else there. ”

Keir’s unconscious use of his code name was a reminder that they were still on a mission. Even if it was something of a milk run. He gave into the urge to look through the viewport again, and seeing nothing, turned his attention back to the discussion at hand.

Damn.

His team simply knew him too well, Jonah thought. He sighed, leaned back and debated saying more. In the end, that impulse won.

“And I met someone.

The cheers were deafening and the congratulatory slaps on his back excruciating. When had the little private life that he had become part of his team’s scrutiny?

Keir gestured to his face in amusement. “Must have been a rigorous experience if you came back this way.”

Darius held up a fist and Keir met it with an enthusiastic punch.

“I bet that he’s going back to wherever he goes at the end of the week.”

Jonah rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the jibes. The damned facility couldn’t come into sight fast enough.

oOo

The harsh, orange hue of the lights never dimmed, not even during their sleeping hours. At this point in time, Carlin found that he could care less. Especially after another unwanted tussle with a larger, stupider, and more primitive version of a man over a bowl of gruel that had been dinner.

And after finding out that he was tasked to work another shift when he’d been ready to throw in his towel for the night, he was still itching to put his fist into something.

Only the presence of his companion was keeping him civil, even though he was still buzzing with shored-up adrenaline.

“This is slavery,” he said, rubbing at a sore, bruised spot on his arm. “And I can give you many arguments as to why it shouldn’t be this way.”

She blinked once at the vehemence in his voice. “It’s just the way things work around here.”

He eyed Keagan curiously, searching for a hint—any hint at all—of indignation on her face. Instead, the calm acceptance of their situation filled him with inexplicable disappointment.

“A dog eat dog world. It doesn’t bother you?”

“This is all I know, Carlin. That we work for our planet, to power our greenhouses so we can have food enough to last this wretched ice-age.”

He ran a hand down his face in impatience. “I know, I know. But…haven’t things…happened? Look, I can’t imagine anyone being very happy with the working conditions here.”

That had to be an understatement.

Keagan’s hesitation lasted all of a second and when she spoke, there was a clear warning in her voice. “I remember a man who tried to escape. He was removed when they found out.”

Curiosity killed the cat, Carlin thought and pushed ahead, giving greater priority to his unsettled thoughts than to her uncomfortable demeanour.

“Removed?”

She looked at him warily, but it was more a plea to not to pursue anything further. “I don’t know. They took him away when he was caught trying to cut through one of the large shafts to get to the surface.”

“But that makes no sense,” he argued, ignoring her warning glare as he tried to picture the escapee’s actions in his mind. “Didn’t the man know that there was only ice on the surface? So what help would climbing out do? Unless there is something more on the surface that-”

Keagan didn’t let him finish. “I don’t know anything more, Carlin. And I bid you goodnight.”

She hurried away, leaving him staring open-mouthed after her. Feeling frustrated at her reticence and apparent inability to talk about anything beyond shifts and food rationing, Carlin sat back against his cot and blinked a few times at the high ceiling. Hadn’t she questioned her origins, her childhood before she worked in here? Or why the planet had suddenly found itself in an ice age? Didn’t explanations matter? Or did everyone simply accept his or her lot down here?

His thoughts shifted to the woman herself. It wasn’t attraction that he felt towards her, but he was certainly grateful for the measure of compassion that she seemed to have when it came to him. And in her dark hair and eyes, he had seen—

The sudden pain that lanced through Carlin’s head felt enormous enough to crack his skull open. He bent double as his vision whited out, then steadied himself just enough to stumble to the facilities to throw up all that he’d just eaten.

When the spell passed, he was left breathless and weak, clutching the sides of his temple in a fruitless effort to press the lingering throbbing away.

_Sha’ur…Sha’re?_

_Sha’re._

What was that?

A name? An object? A place?

Perhaps his memories were failing, Carlin thought with alarm. Unravelling. Heralding a return of the severe nightsickness that had previously afflicted him.

_Sha’re_. _Abydos_.

Keagan?

For a moment, he struggled to match corresponding images to them.

_Keagan. Sha’re_. _Abydos_. _The Chappa’ai_.

The foreign words flitted through the recesses of his memories as the headache slipped away. Without warning, the picture of a gently-smiling woman with long, curly dark hair floated in front of his face, her beauty undimmed by the yellow sands of a desert world, followed by the effervescent glow of a blue puddle that suddenly blinked out of existence to leave a grey, metal ring that somehow helped contain its power.

Carlin’s breath quickened in his throat as he mouthed the words aloud, suddenly liking the easy way the syllables fell from his lips.

What were these things? These places? And who was that woman?

As quickly as those fragments came, more quickly followed in its wake, the sudden flux a nightmare of jumbled thoughts he never knew were buried deep inside. Yet they were still surfacing, relentlessly breaking through the disintegrating steel bands that had for so long, wrapped themselves around his mental faculties.

The Stargate.

Abydos. Sha’re. An animal that pulled him by his feet across the dunes…a suicidal man who found hope again… _Skaara_ …the good father! 

But before he could process any more of it, the heavy weight of a steady hand dropped onto his shoulder. It shocked him enough into standing up as he faced the large man who stood before him.

“Tor?” No, he decided suddenly, that didn’t sound right. Carlin shut his eyes and reached for that elusive name that seemed to match that unusual golden tattoo. “Teal’c?

His straining mental effort brought on a small smile on the other man’s grim face. “It would appear, Daniel Jackson, that you are beginning to remember.”

oOo

It wasn’t too long to the live demonstration and Thera was still struggling with the configuration of the safeguards for it.

With a wave of her hand, the large screen containing multiple results of the decade’s simulations cleared, only to be replaced by the log files of a particular batch of Korros that had decayed too rapidly during the refinement process.

Something was amiss, Thera was sure of it. And no matter how hard she tried, the figures hadn’t yielded their secrets.

She sighed and locked down the search program, considering her options. Her attempt to look through the facility’s archives of past experiments was still not giving her any more new perspectives than when before she’d started. Admittedly, the digital archives of the research institute were limited to the pursuit of scientific studies of the geology and the atmosphere, many of which she’d gone through while developing her theory on the purification and the synthesis of the Korros element. In all probability, the resources of Neithana’s central library in the civic quadrant was what she needed, the wide-ranging numbe—

The lab’s door slid open, cutting short the tantalising thought of going through the rich resources that were contained within the city’s archives.

Her assistant poked his head in. “Thera, the shipment’s escort will be arriving in ten minutes.”

She gave Marlon a curt nod and moved to get up. “Got it.”

It was only when the doors slid open to reveal the delivery transport of the next Korros shipment did Thera realise she was nervous. Accompanying the delivery vehicles was a counter-insurgency force team fronted by a very familiar silver-haired man, one she hasn’t seen since the day she’d shrugged off his comfortable throw blanket and sneaked out of his apartment.

If anything, the tentative friendship they’d forged that night as she’d patched him up could have well been tossed away by her abrupt departure. Then again, it wasn’t as though they’d gone beyond anything other than a curt exchange of names and their occupations, she reasoned sourly. So why was she feeling extraordinarily unsettled and jumpy when she was about to see a man, who, up until recently, truly got on her nerves? His attractiveness aside—and he had a goodly amount of looks, she admitted readily—, their personalities just didn’t seem to fit.

On the surface at least.

Thera blinked those thoughts away, startled to see Jonah Tuvall approaching her, his strides deliberate and unhurried as he pulled off his headgear, a mocking smirk on his face.

He came to a stop at a respectable distance. To all who watched, it merely looked as if he was conversing with a senior researcher. His eyes, however, spoke a different story. That much she caught.

“So.”

Thera tried not to give too much thought to the wave of inexplicable uncertainty that came over her. “So.”

“You okay?”

Up close, she saw the droplets of the early morning dew cling to the spiky strands of his hair and resisted the insane urge run her fingers through them.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, maybe because I assumed that you couldn’t get enough of me,” he told her drily.

The smile that was halfway forming on her lips dropped at Jonah’s mischievous reply, its irreverence chasing off her lingering doubts to leave a simmering irritation forming in its wake.

“Maybe _you_ couldn’t get enough of me, which probably explains why you’re still so hung up over this,” she challenged with a roll of her eyes as it occurred to her then, that two could play that game.

“Smart ass,” he muttered, shooting her an incredulous look.

Clearly he hadn’t expected the ready comeback. But his words—unfamiliar as they seemed to her ears—suddenly triggered a picture of the both of them standing next to each other dressed in identical sets of dark-green…clothes, heavy black vests and matching, spherical headgear that protruded…from the front?

What the-?

The mental picture winked out of existence as abruptly as it appeared but its vividness caused her to lurch forward in shock. A feeling of confusion grew and became an unsettling pit that stayed low in her stomach. Surfacing from the disorientation, Thera blinked and saw a firm pair of hands steadying her shoulders.

The humour in Jonah’s eyes had all but disappeared. In its place were concern, curiosity and an unspoken question.

With the warmth of his palms still seeping through the thick fabric of her clothes, she took a calming breath and tried for a reassurance she didn’t feel.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he retorted with a raised brow.

“Really, I am. Just…a spell of dizziness,” she continued flatly, then belatedly realised she’d just given him an answer that would only invite more probing questions.

To his credit however, he didn’t even blink, even as his own disbelief bled through clearly. “If you say so.”

Strangely placated by his noncommittal reply, Thera cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the tight hold he still had around her shoulders.

“Would you mind?”

It didn’t take him long to realise where his hands were and how his thumbs were beginning to make absent circles on her skin where neck met shoulders.

“Uh, right.” He lifted them off her as though they burned.

The warmth of his hands seeped through fabric like a forbidden lover’s touch, pushing her to search desperately for safe ground.

Korros…delivery!

She latched onto the first thing that came to mind. “So. The, uh, latest shipment?” She asked, trying her best not to flinch at how stupid that sounded, ignoring the voice in her head that mocked her sudden nervousness. To her satisfaction, he looked just as awkward as she was, turning his gaze on everything else but her.

“Yeah. I, uh, we were asked to accompany the batch. And the subsequent ones.”

Something tingled along her spine as the implications sank in. So she’d be seeing him again. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing happened this time?”

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, then stuck it hard into a pocket. “Nope.”

She felt the urge to fidget. “Uh, that’s great.” And there it was again, that damned tension that just seemed to grow and grow.

“Yeah. Well,” he gestured vaguely behind where the scientists had just about transferred the Korros shipment from the delivery vehicles, already turning away. “I, uh, guess I should go.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Her exclamation left her lips before she knew it, surprising even herself.

The command stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, Jonah turned around, taking a few steps back towards her, his eyes wordlessly searching her face.

Her feet closed the remaining distance, stopping only when he was near enough to touch. In the harsh white light of the storage and delivery spaces, she returned his intense stare with an unflinching gaze.

Jonah’s whisper was a soft caress against her cheek. “What?”

His proximity was making it impossible to think. With a deep breath, she sorted her thoughts and tried again. “I, uh, don’t know what else you’re doing apart from the delivery, but…” she paused, wondering just what she was trying to ask, “…would you co-”

This was a bad idea.

“Yes.” He stopped her deliberately before she finished, hesitantly lifting a hand to run a surreptitious finger down the slight curve of her jaw, as her eyes helplessly fell shut at his light touch. “The answer’s yes.”

It sounded like a knowing promise and an impolite interruption all at once. Then he stepped back and strode away, leaving Thera to wonder if he’d just done what she thought he did. But the breathless shock of a tilted equilibrium hadn’t worn off, leaving her frozen on the ground as she watched him disappear into the transport craft, hearing the howl of the wind and the portent of a snowstorm as the heavy doors slid shut.

Long after they closed, she still stared sightlessly at them, the comforting warmth of the air that blew out of the vents her only companion.

“See you soon,” she murmured to no one in particular.


	9. Light Surrounding You

The bright light was in his eyes again and Jonah hated it.

Always have, always will. What could possibly be in his eye that would explain this anyway?

Coupled with the pounding headache that refused to go away, this was sheer hell served on a platter. Squinting at the pinprick of light, he wished the damned doctor would hurry up and take his damned tool and shove it up hi-

The short chirp of the device helpfully stopped the unpleasant thought from being spoken aloud. He’d done too so many times to know that it signalled the end of the medical examination. As quickly as he could, Jonah hopped off the cot and stripped the medical robes they’d put him in, not bothering to hide the distaste he had for these things they called an excuse of a gown.

With swift strides, he crossed to the guest closet and rummaged for the black attire that he usually donned for work. He was in the middle of retrieving his wireless link device from the drawers and putting on his shirt when the door quietly opened to admit a blond woman and a dark-haired man.

He didn’t bother turning around as he finished dressing. “So, what’s the verdict, Lorcan?”

The doctor said dryly, “I would say a reduction in alcoholic beverage. Other than that, scans show that you’re in good health.”

“And my head?” Even as he spoke, Jonah knew he hadn’t been entirely honest. The dream had shaken him badly, yet he’d only glossed over it in his report to the doctor, merely claiming a headache that hadn’t gone away since the night before. The reason for the omission wasn’t something he wanted to examine too closely, even though it vaguely worried him that he was simply following his deep-seated intuition not to say anymore to a man he thought he trusted.

But Lorcan was already bent over a portable screen, missing the fleeting look of hesitation that had crossed Jonah’s face.

“Your head is perfectly fine. There are areas of your brain, signalled by the red indicators here, that show chemical remnants of, uh, overexcited activity, something that is akin to sexu-”

Jonah cleared his throat uncomfortably, then squirmed under the assessing gaze of the doctor.

“No. Nothing of that sort,” he muttered and grimaced in chagrin. “Not lately at least. Just…some dreams.”

The doctor’s face showed exactly what sort of dreams he thought Jonah had been having. “Right. Dreams.”

“Look, just dreams. Bad ones. Night terrors. Whatever you want to call it,” he gritted out, knowing he was just _too damn old_ for this whole…coyness. So why the hell was he even bothering? “Anyway, you’ve just cleared me, right?”

The older man raised his eyes to Jonah’s forehead, seemingly deliberating about his response. “Well…”

He _really_ didn’t want to play this game. “What?”

“Your head is fine. But a haircut might be in order.”

The quirk of the doctor’s eyebrow should have given the damn joke away. Instantly, he relaxed.

“Been thinkin’ of getting one myself if it helps the damn head,” he deadpanned.

But Lorcan’s face was turning sombre and sympathetic. “I assure you that this is not a recurrence of nightsickness, Jonah. You had a terrible time when you were afflicted with it. I treated you for it and remember how hard it was for you and how long it took to regain your normal activities, so I actually do understand your concerns.”

Now that wasn’t a time he’d willingly revisit, even if it was all too easy to remember the first few, horrific days when he woke in the same bed on which he now sat. Trapped in hell, convulsing, cursing, shouting, willing the pain to go away as a steady voice – which he now knew as Lorcan’s – talked him through his nightmare, reconstructing Jonah Tuvall as they pieced his memories back together again, into their rightful places in his memory banks, a day at a time. When he’d finally broken through, fighting the confusion and the metal chaos, it was only to discover that the journey back into the light and normalcy had only just begun.

He didn’t want to remember. Yet he couldn’t help but recall the brittle ache of muscles that had nearly atrophied from long months in bed. The debilitating mental weakness that had hollowed him from the inside out. And perhaps, that had been the worst of all, when he was left with no mental reserves to fight the onslaught of pain.

Jonah heard that same cadence now, the same soothing tone that had been his only companion in those days. The voice that he’d slowly come to recognise as Lorcan’s, who had, at some point, become more than a nameless doctor who recorded his illnesses and treated them.

Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the sheets and idly rubbed at the pristine, white material that covered the cot, uneasy with the serious turn the conversation had taken.

“Jonah?”

Startled out of his musings, he jerked his head upwards and met Lorcan’s inquiring’s gaze.

Making a show of grabbing his personal equipment, Jonah shrugged as flippantly as he could manage and made a beeline for the door.

“I’m more than fine, doc. See you...well, hopefully not too soon.”

oOo

Daniel Jackson stood with his hands clenched by his sides, frowning at the entire underground infrastructure of the mines, breathing the acrid air that was a mix of cool oxygen, fine chemical dust and toxic atmospheric contaminants.

He looked upwards and frowned, examining the vertical space with a critical eye. A two-hundred-metre space divided the mines from the dirty ceiling of the entire enclosure and halfway up that gap, numerous scaffolding crisscrossed over their heads.

The workers’ bunks were filled with the boisterous noises of snores and coughs, sounds that Daniel found useful to mask his temporary escape from the place.

In the relative silence, the disconnection that he felt was amplified manifold.

Like a boat that floated out at sea with no anchor. Helpless. The moment when it had all coalesced that he had been living a different identity for god knows how long, he’d immediately shaken off his teammate and sought some solitude in a rarely-visited area of the mines. Yet Teal’c had seemed to understand that need, that survival technique of fleeing and hiding especially when the wounds were still too raw.

Only hours of losing himself in the familiar routine of hard, physical labour did Daniel feel sufficiently pulled together to think, rationalise and feel.

Stumbling out of the work area surreptitiously, he saw Teal’c follow, a large part of him grateful that the Jaffa hadn’t once, stopped looking out for him. Shifting slightly when a solid presence materialised by his side, he finally felt brave enough to talk.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

The Jaffa didn’t even blink. “Perhaps ‘at the very beginning’ would be an excellent place.”

Daniel smiled slightly despite himself, taking a measure of comfort in the Teal’c obscure reference to a line drawn from one of popular culture’s most famous movies. For a moment, it felt like home had come to him.

“We’re still in the mines,” he said, plainly knowing that he stated the obvious.

“Indeed, Daniel Jackson.” The small arch of the Jaffa’s eyebrow spoke volumes.

“Teal’c, how did you know who I was?”

“I watched you from a distance and saw that you fought and overcame the memory stamp.”

“The memory stamp.” Daniel shook his head and brushed sweat away from his brow, thinking of the procedures that they’d undergone. A kind of mind-altering procedure, from the looks of it. One that suppressed memories and created new ones. “But weren’t you also mindstamped?”

“I was similarly afflicted,” Teal’c affirmed. “It was only the day before that my symbiote restored me to health.

Daniel stuck to the basics. “How long have we been here, Teal’c?”

“I know not the answers to what you seek, Daniel Jackson. The turning of the seasons is not readily apparent here.”

Daniel nodded absently. Day bled into night and back again without anyone really noticing when the darkness of the mines was perpetually lit by the warm glows of the fires they lit. The pieces of his memory were slowly assembling themselves, fitting together the way the edges of the jigsaw pieces did. But some gaps remained and unconsciously, Daniel kept talking, allowing his speech to help straighten out his unfolding thoughts.

“What about Sam and Jack?”

“I am not privy to that information, Daniel Jackson. But O’Neill and Major Carter do not seem to be in the mines.”

That, he’d already suspected. Now that he knew what – and whom – to look for, he’d kept his eyes on the workers in the past few hours, straining for a glimpse of two familiar faces in the sea of dirty orange uniforms.

“I didn’t see them around too. Not even during the overlap of workers when the shifts rotated. In fact, the last I remember of us being together was when we were having some tour of a city, wherever that is. And then,” he paused, his growing excitement quickly deflating, “I think we saw them at the – _no_. I still can’t remember that yet.”

“You will remember, Daniel Jackson.”

He nodded, briefly conceding that time was what he needed for things to fall into place. But time was possibly what they also didn’t have.

“Major Carter noticed ventilation shafts coming from an incongruous place in the city which should not have been there.”

He shot Teal’c a grateful look for filling in the blanks. “And then what?”

“And I woke up without a sense of myself,” Teal’c replied simply.

Daniel found that he remembered much less than he thought he did. Only the key moments in his life stood out: the discovery of the cartouche, his first foray into an alien world, the woman who’d stripped for him at the behest of her father, the hard, suicidal Colonel who’d become a steadfast friend.

What had happened in the intervening years still flowed like water through a sieve.

He strained mentally, pushing himself to remember the time before he’d woken up a blank slate and into a persona called Carlin.

There had been a mission. Sam’s excitement had bled into his. They’d stepped through the gate, meandered their way through a few security checks. Met the Administrator. Taken a tour. Caught onto ventilation shafts. Then it all dissolved into a memory of moments of pure, unadulterated fear, the type that came with the annihilation of all knowledge.

Had Sam and Jack suffered the same thing? Had they been brought to the edge of madness and dragged back from the void into a fabricated consciousness that erased every sense of their original selves? He knew that it would be foolhardy to assume that their memory stamps would have worn out the same time his did. And if they hadn’t recovered from the stamps, _who_ were they now? And where?

Many questions, the answers to which weren’t forth coming at all. The monumental task ahead of him and Teal’c seemed suddenly insurmountable.

Daniel squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the disorientation, willing his escalating heart rate to slow.

“We’ll have to find them,” he said as he took a last look around at the infrastructure of the mines, knowing that was going to be easier said than done. “And we have to find the Star-” he cut himself off deliberately, even though there wasn’t a soul to hear their low tones.

Teal’c simply nodded gravely. “I concur, Daniel Jackson.”

oOo

This was the part of the job that Hammond hated the most. A hundred times of this and it had never gotten easier. He doubted that it ever would.

But if it ever did, then it was probably time to start questioning his humanity.

Hammond rang the doorbell again and finally heard the hurried footsteps that approached the main doorway. A second later, the door swung open to reveal a slender blonde with some silvery streaks in her hair, the polite and curious expression on her face shifting immediately into wary look of understanding when she saw him in his full dress uniform.

“Mrs. O’Neill?”

She paused. “Actually, I go by Sara Williams now.”

In her eyes, Hammond saw what loss did to a person. Fighting a grimace, he hesitated a fraction of a second. Words never seemed adequate for such a situation. How could he ever express his condolences to someone who hadn’t known the extent of the classified work that O’Neill did? To a woman, who, in all probability, endured the difficulty of living with a husband disappeared for long periods of time with no explanation?

She gestured half-heartedly inside. “Come in, please. Could I offer you anything to drink?”

Hammond knew that divorce didn’t make this any easier. Excising a person’s physical presence would never obliterate memories that lingered for a lifetime.

“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

“No, please, I insist.”

He followed her in, noticing the lived-in space. She’d remarried not too long after the divorce, he assumed. The mess in the living room – the haphazardly-arranged books, the pile of children’s toys, the crumpled coat that lay over a chair – attested to the hustle and bustle of civilian suburbia he couldn’t remember anymore.

Only when they seated did she speak again. “It’s about Jack, isn’t it?”

There was no easy way he could do this.

“I regret to inform you that Colonel O’Neill has been killed in action. I’m very sorry, Ms. Williams, about your loss.”

She sucked in a breath and dropped her head. “I always knew a day like this would come.” When she looked up, he saw that her eyes had turned suspiciously bright.

Hammond sighed deeply. “It is a big loss to all of us. Jack was an exceptional leader. I have worked with no one finer than him.”

“You do know about Charlie?”

He nodded in compassion, saying nothing. O’Neill hadn’t had it easy. But his ex-wife hadn’t as well. In a twist of events, O’Neill had been given a new lease of life in the SGC. Sara Williams, on the other hand, had built a new one for herself when her ex-husband was recalled to the military.

“Then you know how devastated we were when he died. The only consolation I can take from this is that Charlie wouldn’t have to live his life without his father by his side.” Her eyes turned beseeching. “How did it happen?”

What could he say that would appease her? That O’Neill had walked through an alien device and onto another planet and had gotten himself and his team killed there? That they only had blackened bodies and degraded DNA as proof of their violent deaths?

O’Neill had known the difficulty of living with a spouse who was kept in the dark; a curt reply that threw the word ‘classified’ in her face would in all possibility, be the last straw in turning her against anything that was military, if it hadn’t already.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Williams,” Hammond finally said. “But I cannot say.”

Her laugh was humourless, short bark that he didn’t like. “Classified, huh?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She wringed her hands once, the sole indication of her aggravation. “It’s the same old story.”

There could have been a million responses to that bitter retort. Instead, Hammond sighed and reached into the pocket of his heavily-starched uniform, producing a pair of dogtags that she seemed to shrink away from. The silver of the dogtags caught the fading afternoon sunlight that streamed into the living room, casting a brief gleam of brightness on the white walls.

He held them out to her, hearing the soft click of their silencers, struck by the sense of finality in the action.

 “I believe he would have wanted you to have these, Ms. Williams.”

oOo

The elevator shaft dropped a thousand metres beneath the surface, the vertical tunnel letting in a whoosh of air warmed by the restless geothermal currents from the deep, fractured rocks of the Telzarin traverse.

It was amazing what people could do, given the right motivation, Thera thought, then wondered at Calder’s sudden, eagle-eyed interest in the project and the unspoken imperative that this particular milestone in energy development _couldn’t_ fail.

The elevator jerked to a halt and she stepped out, raising her mask over her head when the sensor on her wrist beeped a brief assurance of breathable atmosphere.

She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.

Deep under the primeval ice, the scaled model of Neithana stretched over a kilometre wide, lacking only the same, circular dome that capped the actual city. It was a perfect replica, cast in the eerie carmine glow of temporary generators, complete with an electrical grid system that was going to be linked up with the power generation unit and its adjacent cooling systems.

Even half-finished, the miniature model was impressive, down to the buildings, the bridges and the waterways that made up the Neithana’s beloved skyline. Down to the smallest detail. Bands of steel crossed overhead, an unnatural barricade that formed the foundations of the miniature city, softened by the soft, pink hue of the ambient lighting that powered the whole of Neithana.

And this had merely taken slightly over twenty days to achieve, an engineering feat that Thera hadn’t thought possible with the blueprints that she’d given to the Administration for the proof of concept that Calder had demanded when she last visited the place. At the rate the construction was going, it’d be sooner rather than later before this setup got on the road.

But where Thera had braced herself for the ear-ringing silence of the hushed, alien world under the ice, the site was instead, a hive of activity. She stilled against the cacophony of human movement across the sleek, remodelled surfaces, taking a second to look upwards.

The elevator doors had opened straight into the administrative quadrant, the oldest and most impressive part of the city. Small plazas were encircled by the ever-present spires and buildings, the structures constituting the neighbourhoods and commercial sections gleaming white and grey in their newness.

Even its artificiality, the scaled model of the buildings that were as tall as the average man somehow smelt, looked and even felt like…home. Or at least the home she’d left when she voluntarily chose to spend her waking hours in the research facility instead.

Suddenly realising that she’d fallen behind her escort, Thera snapped herself out of her awed stare, then hurried behind the silent man, only to lose him in the small crowd of scientists whom she vaguely recognised as her colleagues who worked in another department.

The wave of greetings that they sent her way ensured that she’d lost her escort permanently. By the time Thera had tugged herself free of the conversation, she found herself at the end of the walkway down a main street, staring at a security team that communicated over their wireless links as they moved with practised ease among the construction workers. The coordination of their movements and their dynamics were strangely mesmerising, the familiarity amongst themselves enviable. Curiously, she hung back, urged by an inexplicable impulse to watch what they did, then stopped short, wondering at the strange swell of emotion that she felt.

“Lost your way?”

Thera jumped when a familiar voice rang out, her surprise turning into a glare when she saw the man who leaned indulgently against the model of a building.

“Just taking a minute.”

“Oh yeah.” Jonah pushed himself away from his makeshift wall and walked to join her.

It was hard, as usual, to ignore his proximity, to retain the emotional control that seemed to slip whenever he came near.

“Looks like home, doesn’t it?” She kept her voice even.

“Yeah. For shorter people,” he corrected blandly. But even then she heard the admiration in his voice, the sentimental attachment that he seemed to have for the city, both the real and the simulacrum of it. “I feel like I’ve suddenly grown too damn tall.”

She really shouldn’t be smiling or laughing at that stupid comment that he’d just made. Against her better judgement, Thera felt a rising bubble of mirth escape her lips, a sound that threatened to grow into something bigger, less controllable.

“No giggling,” he deadpanned.

The command, even made in jest, stopped her short. Why did those words carry a ring of familiarity? Why was this banter with a man who was in so many ways a stranger, so strangely comfortable? And what was it about him that-

Thera shook off the momentary distraction and brought herself back to the present. “What are you doing here anyway?”

He threw her a sideways glance. “Not pulling any punches, are you?”

That phrase left her confused. “What?”

“Not really pullin-”

She interrupted his attempt at repetition with an impatient swipe of her hand. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t really understand what you, uh, meant.”

Jonah grinned at her verbal stumbling, smirking at the putout expression that she knew was on her face. “Not many people do. I, uh, have a different range of vocabulary, it seems.”

A snort came out before she could help it. “Of course,” she answered dryly. 

Jonah turned his eyes back to observe his team from his spot on the street. “My team and a few others are setting up a secure perimeter for this _thing_ of yours. I’d go on about it, but you’d be bored. What is this anyway?”

Thera leaned back on her heels, considering his question. “How much do you know about the Korros project?”

His jaw tightened visibly. “Enough to know that it’s a dangerous thing you’re doing.”

She pulled back, hating how the sting of his words was more sharply felt than it ought to be. “If this really bothers you too much, maybe it would be for the best if you-”

“Hey, just sayin’, you know,” he interrupted her. “I’ve read the reports, had access to more than the inhabitants in the city could ever have because of my work. I’m all for keeping the city alive and kicking but the truth is, what you’re doing is dangerous and you know it. But you’re doing your job and I’m doing mine here. And right now, I need to know the worst that can happen in this setup of yours so my team and Cuinn’s can plan for it.”

His honesty was refreshing – even if it pricked Thera’s conscience. The Korros project had been her life, yet somewhere along the way, growing political and commercial investments in its potential had turned the science behind it into a game that wagered their own civilisation’s survival for unprecedented gains. And as deep as her distaste ran for the military types, he hadn’t been too unreasonable as she thought he could have been. The truth was, she still wondered about the project’s urgency, the Administration’s hand in it, the PPA’s efforts to stop it all costs.

The bottom line was, he was right. Reluctantly, Thera agreed with a frown that pinched her forehead. “Fine, Sir.”

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Sir?”

_Where had that come from?_

She shrugged. “Uh, it’s nothing.”

Jonah brought them back on track. “So talk to me.”

“I’ll have my report sent to you in the morn-”

He raised a finger in warning. “Oh no, you don’t.”

Thera bit back the first stirrings of annoyance, then sighed in irritation. “What?”

His exasperation matched hers. “What part of ‘talk to me’ do you not understand?”

She threw him a speculative look, tilting her head slightly to consider just what he was really asking, knowing that her doubts about him hadn’t fled completely. But her few encounters with him – as mistimed and coincidental as they had been – had given her enough reason not to doubt his decency...even if they didn’t quite like each other’s guts. _His_ military guts, to be more specific.

Like she’d really believe that in a heartbeat. It was merely his charismatic presence that was responsible for this sudden loss of…equilibrium. And it was something she could easily learn to ignore, the same way she tried to brush off Calder’s ingratiating disposition each time he talked to her.

“Fine,” she said curtly, unable to resist a jibe. “But it’ll take a while for you and your team to be acquainted with the finer, more scientific details of it.”

Her not-so-veiled attempt at an insult made him grin. “You scientists on your high horses and your ivory towers. Just name the time and place and I’ll be there.”

Thera didn’t hesitate. “Back here, tomorrow night.”

From the look on his face, she knew he understood her challenge all too well. The scaled model of the city lay in the middle of nowhere on the planet, built in a strategic location that was her turf. She was essentially daring him to step out of the city he lived in and into an unfamiliar world of science contained in a building separated from known civilisation by treacherous ice and mountain passes.

Jonah blinked. “Excuse me? Here?”

She didn’t budge an inch. “You heard me.”

But if she had been hoping the distance would put him out, she was squarely wrong.

He conceded grudgingly, even if it seemed to be more out of annoyance than anything else. “Your wish is my command, _lady_.”

His reply had her gritting her teeth again. Just when she thought they were starting to get along, whatever that meant in his world. Once more, he stalked off and joined his team in the distance, leaving her more exasperated than she cared to admit.

This was becoming too much of a habit.

With a huff, Thera turned back to her documents, momentarily wondering what it really was about him that got under her skin.


	10. Movement up and down

The fatigue from hard, physical labour had always ensured that he slept like the dead throughout the night. But excitement had overridden the usual exhaustion tonight and the adrenaline that pumped through his veins was loud in his ears.

Daniel looked down from where he stood on a precarious ledge on the scaffolding, knowing that just one wrong step would cause him to plunge fifty metres to the ground. He held on tight, uncaring that his knuckles were scratched and bloodied with his efforts to cut through sharp, protruding layers of rock. The scaffolding pierced the rock strata in places, already destabilising its tightly bonded structure to expose a soft mineral sheet that crumbled under little pressure.

Tentatively, he put his right foot out, heel first, testing its integrity. It held. Then he pushed his weight onto that foot, praying that it wouldn’t give.

Above him, Teal’c’s graceful ascent belied the bulk of his body and not for the first time, Daniel wished he had that same dexterity in his own limbs. The last few years of accidental bulking up to become as battle-ready as a civilian could be for off-worlding activities clearly hadn’t extended to honing his rock-climbing skills.

“You are struggling, Daniel Jackson.”

Daniel snorted at Teal’c talent for stating the obvious. “I would think so.”

“There is still a distance to go. You must push on.”

Teal’c words echoed in his head in a dizzying playback loop. _You must push on._

_Push on._

Push on so they could get back to the Stargate, wherever it was hidden in some part of the city. Push on to find Jack and Sam. If they were still alive. And push on, back to the SGC, most likely as fugitives. Assuming they were not caught in the resulting manhunt that their escape was bound to trigger.

There was too much to think about and it overwhelmed him.

His muscles were screaming for relief. But there was nothing more he wanted to do than to go on. So Daniel tightened his grip on the last beam of the scaffolding and hauled himself onto the next exposed layer of the rock strata. With each tortuous step, he tried to distract himself with the scattered pieces of knowledge that he and Teal’c had gathered during their incarceration in the mines – which wasn’t too much, really.

A surreptitious search of Brenna’s office had merely brought up the name lists of the contingent of workers…and nothing else. No architectural blueprints of the mines or even a layout of the city above the surface. Whatever they’d hidden, they’d hidden well, leaving the only conceivable plan that he and Teal’c could think of: to escape through the shafts built into the ceiling as the shifts rotated and their mining buddies went to bed dreaming of the next day’s bowl of gruel for breakfast.

With a small bag of stolen food from the cookhouse, he and Teal’c had embarked on one of the simplest and possibly, one of the stupidest escape plans ever. If this route led straight out onto the ice and not into the city, they’d be good as dead with only the clothes on their backs.

Daniel grimaced, trying unsuccessfully, not to think of the worst and wished, not for the first time, that he had a fraction of that unflagging fortitude that Teal’c always carried.

Not knowing what really stood out there beyond the mines was something Teal’c could accept better than he could ever have; the unknown was after all, what he had dealt with alarming regularity as Apophis’s First Prime. Unknown conquests, unknown attacks…unknown situations, all of which Teal’c had accepted with an unperturbed stoicism that drew both amusement and admiration from his teammates.

But Daniel, like Jack and Sam, thrived on known variables, factors that could be predicted and planned for – as much as they could at least – with the tendency of off-world missions going sideways at the drop of a hat. Yet being thrust into a middle of situations where the outcomes weren’t too clear had been SG-1’s fate from the beginning and he couldn’t help but feel more prepared for the unknown than he’d ever been.

It didn’t take too long for his wandering mind to go in circles.

He pushed on.

oOo

The winds had quietened down a fraction and in that space of a minute, Jonah could see the faint outlines of the testing facility’s entrance – or whatever Thera Arann had chosen to call it – from the transport craft’s thick windows. The craft banked quickly and from the view port, a small, solitary building came into sight, standing amidst the undulating landscape, a lone fortress against the harsh elements of the perpetual ice age of the planet.

The sudden chill of the toxic upper atmosphere was replaced by the pungent rush of the mineral- and sulphur-rich air heated by the geothermal forces from the centre of the planet’s core as Jonah stepped off the transport craft.

For once, Jonah was glad that he was anonymous among the hundreds of workers who worked day and night to bring the miniature city to life.

With his clearance, it had been all too easy to catch this transport from Neithana out here, on the pretext of conducting perimeter and security checks. But it wasn’t the first time that he’d begun to question the wisdom of the decision of this particular meeting, knowing that he’d willingly allowed himself to be subtly manipulated – too easily – by someone who really shouldn’t matter to him.

By a prickly and uptight scientist, of all people, who somehow seemed to understand that bizarre connection they’d forged.

The attraction was mutual, he was sure of it. But there was a small voice that warned him off her, a voice that he’d come close to ignoring on most occasions because it seemed too irrational to have surfaced even from his own subconscious.

Or was that merely his deep-seated dislike of scientists raising its voice? Was this a good thing…or whether did attraction simply override his prejudices?

Suddenly tired of the shaky ground on which he stood when it came to Thera Arann, Jonah shook his head in an effort to clear the gathering cobwebs.

The elevator doors slid open into the administrative quadrant and for a moment, he allowed himself to take in the sight of the miniature, subterranean city built deep under the ice.

From where he stood, the last few streets demarcating the end of the urban zone stretched beyond what the eye could see, covered by the crescent of a half-finished dome. All around him, illuminated skyscrapers that rose to the height of the average man lined the arterial roads that ringed through the circular city, casting irregular shadows on the concrete ground, frozen in perpetual night.

It was brilliant and magnificent and a damned confusing maze that he didn’t like one bit, after having stepped from the real thing into this counterfeit, inanimate entity that was too small but looked too real. And in spite of the sounds of the crew that worked to complete this project, it lacked the noise, the bustle and the sounds of daily routines of city living that a lifeless model could never replicate.

Still, the set-up was simply meant to support the brainchild of Thera Arann, the woman with whom he’s developed an unhealthy obsession. Just the thought of her made him cringe at the uncharacteristic sway of…schoolboy emotions that assailed him.

Crossing the deep arterial motorway that divided the offices from the leisure centre, he saw her immediately, clothed in the white and silver formal robes of the facility that she worked in, leaning against the cluster of buildings that formed the tallest peaks of the Neithanan skyline.

Then she shifted minutely, the soft, yellow-pink beams of ambient light catching the golden strands of her hair and the silver threads that wound intricately through her robes, their sudden dazzling shimmer making him barrel to an abrupt stop.

_Fuck._

Immediately, he turned his eyes away from the mesmerising sight, deliberately breaking the very source of his unease and willed his breathing to even out.

But she had already seen him and if she’d noticed the uncharacteristic hesitation in his stride, she’d chosen to ignore it.

Her face was unreadable as she stepped coolly towards him. “You came.”

He was glad his voice was steady as he spoke. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure,” she told him honestly, producing a thick, blue folder that he surmised could have only been hidden in the folds of her clothes. “Here.”

Jonah eyed her outstretched hand with some surprise. “What?”

“All that you need to know about the safeguards that have been put in place for the Korros concept test.”

He looked at the folder suspiciously. “So I guess you still don’t want to talk, huh?”

A small smile formed at the corner of her lips. “I actually don’t know where to begin.”

Her answer sounded encouraging enough for him press on. “Wherever you want to begin,” he paused, looking at her wryly, “you wouldn’t be getting complaints from me if there’s more _talk_ , less science in there. I’ll just read this,” he took the folder deliberately, then staggered a bit under its surprising weight, glaring a bit at her returning smirk. “And not understand a word of it. Why don’t you just explain it to me right now?”

The quirk of her lips remained in place. “You learned how to read, didn’t you? I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

“Alright, let’s see.”

Deliberately, Jonah leafed through the carefully-organised reports, catching sight of calculations and long paragraphs of explanations that he was certain would fly straight over his head. And he wouldn’t put it past her to make things just that bit more difficult for him just because she could.

“Yeah, I’m sure I will manage just fine,” he told her drily. “Technobabble and all.”

Her forehead creased in confusion. “Technobabble?”

Hadn’t she heard that term before? Frowning, he tried to explain. “Uh, long, science-y explanations that belong in a science lab and not from where I’m standing. The things you and the rest of the other…eggheads do.”

“Eggheads?” She asked, smiling at his poor attempt at defining a term that was probably self-invented.

Apart from his…extraordinary use of words, it was a sharp reminder to Jonah that they were from vastly different spheres – spheres that converged only because a series of coincidences had brought them to where they were now standing. And the urge to bridge this divide, to know more about the world in which she lived – and about her – had grown from a fleeting thought into a burning need. What then, had changed over the course of the past few weeks? It wasn’t something that he even had an answer to.

He didn’t back down, shrugging his apparent disinterest that she knew better than to believe. “Got a better word for it?”

“How about ‘scientists’?”

He gave her a sly look. “That’s boring.”

“So you think I’m boring?”

He barked a laugh, not taking the bait. “That’s a trick question, right?”

“Would you believe it if I told you that boring science has been my whole life?”

“No kidding.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Really. It’s…all I…know how to do.”

“Your dedication to work is both commendable and frightening,” he said, the beginnings of a grin on his face when he finally heard her laugh. “Don’t you have a life?”

“Apparently not.”

“Let me guess. If there wasn’t a constant stream of equations to solve or a number of reactors to build, you wouldn’t know anything else about having a good time.”

He was baiting her and they both knew it.

Her pursed lips showed that her patience was wearing thin. “This is fun to me.”

“What drives you, Thera?” Jonah asked suddenly, his tone serious as he gestured to their surroundings in awe of the manifestation of the project that had enthralled a good portion of the Administration. “I’m seeing all your work, but where’s the woman behind the scientist?”

oOo

_The woman behind the scientist? Who really, was that?_

Thera shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. Anxiety suddenly flared, growing to suffocating proportions at the abrupt shift in Jonah’s questioning.

How was it that a near-complete stranger had cut through her more easily without her having to say too much? That with a few questions, he’d deconstructed her life – or her lack of one? Or had her growing attraction for him helped collapse the wall of secrecy she’d erected to keep out the unwanted scrutiny that came with the media attention?

Uncomfortably, Thera shook her head curtly, the knot in her stomach tightening as she deflected his question.

“Please. I’m sure you work just as hard.”

His comeback was instant. “I play just as hard.”

He was probably too sharp not to have recognised the clumsy attempt to shift the focus away from his question. Nonetheless, Thera was grateful that he let it go for now.

“Really? What do you do?” She winced as soon as the question came out, realising that she’d already made an acquaintance with his pastime in the worst way possible.

Their eyes met and held. Standing with her back in a cul-de-sac, only then did Thera notice that they’d walked into an isolated corner of the quadrant that lay undisturbed by the toiling workers.

Still, he advanced slowly, purposefully contracting the invisible circle of her personal space. “I think you already know what.”

The air was suddenly heavy, sultry with his nearness, the silence amplifying the soft sounds of their breaths as they spoke.

As she stood facing him for what seemed like a long time, it occurred to her that perhaps talking to someone who might understand wouldn’t have been too bad a thing. But even that thought flew away in the confusing dizziness that she felt when he was near.

“Do I?”

He moved impossibly closer, his presence a tangible entity that made Thera press herself harder into the concrete blocks. His eyes – hooded, dark and alive with undisguised want – forced her heart to slam into her chest.

“I think you do.”

Unable to stop herself, she ghosted two fingers slowly down his cheek, feeling the sculpted contours of his face. His eyes fluttered closed briefly as her warm breath tickled his face, a small action that she registered with breathless triumph.

“No, I don’t.”

The thick folder that he held dropped unceremoniously onto the ground. “Yes, you do.”

The hoarseness she heard in her own voice was her undoing. “Show me.”

Jonah needed no further invitation. “You bet.”

In the next second, their lips met with the terrifying force of a hurricane, their tongue tangling with the erotic promise of so much more. She gave into the urge to run her fingers through his silver hair as he clamped his hands over her ribs, his fingers inching upwards against the soft mounds of her breasts.

Thera broke the kiss to groan her pleasure, only to have him recapture the sound with his mouth as his hands continued the sensual torture on her skin. Wanting to feel more of him, she yanked his shirt out of his pants and placed her palms on his chest, immediately learning the pattern of the hair that dusted his chest.

A stray finger tracing the hair that led down past his trousers made him break their heated kiss for the second time. Her tentative touch of the telltale bulge made him jerk hard against her, momentarily making him forget just where they were.

Moving to capture her hands in his, Jonah pinned both her wrists above her head with a hand as he continued his exploration of the delicate skin along the long column of her neck, tasting the goose flesh that broke in the wake of his kisses. She arched willingly against him, straining for more. He obliged with a chuckle that came out more like a groan, shifting his thumb over skin that was already sensitised through the gossamer fabric.

Moving aside the pesky cloth that shielded the top of her shoulder, he turned his attention to the exposed expanse of skin that beckoned invitingly—

The sudden sounds of an animated conversation filtered through the gaps of the buildings, cutting through their haze of passion.

Immediately, Jonah released his grip on her hands, moving away just enough so he could rest his forehead against hers as she heard the rasp of her own laboured pants that mirrored his.

He pushed himself off of her as the voices grew closer then drifted away again, and she shakily took a step away to gather her scrambled wits. Glancing his way, she noted, a small amount of satisfaction, that he seemed equally affected as she was.

Clearing her dry throat, she made an attempt – as piss-poor as it was – at speech. “So. I, uh-”

“Yeah.”

As much as she’d wanted him to continue, Thera didn’t have the slightest clue what to do about them. Through the waning shock of the depth of passion and desire of that kiss, it occurred dimly to her that she would have gladly welcomed a quick romp against the walls – in the midst of her pet project – had they not been timely interrupted. Yet Jonah Tuvall represented the type of men that she distrusted, and as drawn to him as she was as a moth to a flame, it would have been all too easy to lose herself in him.

It – _he_ – was a distraction that she didn’t need.

But was that really the reason? How could she have explained that being with someone like him felt like a forbidden luxury when all her recent actions have proven otherwise?

“This is wrong,” she said, finally articulating the nagging feeling that plagued her ever since their first meeting, not wanting to meet his eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No, not here,” he agreed readily.

“I meant, not at all.” Her voice was barely audible. “Everything about this is wrong.”

He shook his head and frowned. “What’s wrong about it?”

Agitation made her run an absent hand through hair that was already rumpled from his earlier touches. “It just is.”

He moved closer, trying to understand just what she was getting at, willing her to meet his eyes. Daring her to deny what lay between them.

“You’re attracted to me as much as I’m attracted to you. Why fight it? Why deny it?”

Thera straightened her clothing, ignoring his intense gaze, hating how off-centre he had her each time he chipped away at her walls. But as much as she wanted him, she trusted her own instincts more – instincts that screamed at her to stay away. To run far and fast where Jonah Tuvall was concerned. To keep things professional and superficial, because that felt like what she _should_ be doing, even if there wasn’t a perfectly rational explanation for it. He wasn’t a superior; neither was he a co-worker. But a casual dalliance still sounded wrong and forbidden.

He took a step closer, and instinctively, she retreated.

“I’ll ask again. Why fight this?”

In the end, it merely took a lie to bring those shutters up in his eyes.

“Because you’re not good enough.”

In a split second, Thera thought she saw a flicker of hurt disbelief cross his face before an unreadable, blank expression replaced it.

“Sure as hell didn’t seem like it from where I was,” he challenged.

She tilted her head, wishing she could see through that inscrutable look on his face.

“That was nothing more than a moment of weakness.”

_Nothing more than a moment of weakness._

_Weakness._

“A moment of weakness, eh?” Jonah repeated her callous words out loud, as though he was letting its reality sink in.

Thera willed the dull flush of mortification and disappointment away, already questioning her poorly-executed strategic retreat. They’d barely crossed into unchartered territory and she’d been the one with the good sense to pull back before a slew of rash actions became nothing more than a litany of regrets.

Had pulling away really been the right thing to do?

Deliberately, Jonah picked up the forgotten folder of the Korros project. By the time he turned back to her, his face was carefully blank. He tapped the side of the folder casually.

“Well, I guess that clears it up. Nice to know where I really stand.”

She stood there long after he stalked briskly away, the urge to run after him warring with an instinct that helped keep her feet planted firmly on the ground. He’d misunderstood everything, just the way she’d intended for him to.

Just like that, she knew she’d lost him.


	11. Upwards and Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only say I'm terribly sorry for leaving people hanging...if you guys are still following the story!

“They’re gone, Sir.”

The shock of the news stilled Calder’s movements around his office.

“Would you care to repeat that, Brenna?”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the blinding anger of which she knew she’d be the sole recipient, knowing that he wouldn’t take this too well.

“Carlin and Tor are reported missing. They did not report for their shift in the morning and a search for the both of them confirmed that they must have attempted to escape just after their shift ended the night before.”

“Tell me, how is this possible?

Calder hadn’t flown into a rage as she’d expected him to. But his eyes were boring into hers, demanding an immediate, thorough explanation. There had been no indication that Carlin and Tor had overcome their mindstamps so easily. But if they had, they’d hidden it disturbingly well, especially since her attention had been on the latest installation of the machinery in the mines.

“It appears that they climbed the scaffolding and found the only weakness in the entire infrastructure near the ceiling. But Sir, we think that—”

“Is this not a coincidence to you,” Calder continued softly, as though he hadn’t heard her, “that both our workers that used to form half of a team that we disbanded months ago have gone missing at the same time?”

Stiffening, she nodded, not daring to look away. “No, Sir.”

“I trusted you, Brenna, to keep them in line. But what is done cannot be undone, can it?”

His calm façade and flat chuckle frightened her more than a tirade could. But even as a lowly, overlooked supervisor in the mines, Brenna knew that Calder hadn’t risen to the top without knowing the inner workings of government. Calder had never shouted nor railed; he never needed to. Instead, his mastery at manipulative rhetoric and his legendary tight rein over all Administrative departments under him had easily done the job for him. Several strategic moves in the council had all but guaranteed him absolute power than few dared to challenge.

She got what he meant immediately, inclining her head under the unspoken pressure of his words.

“I assume full responsibility for their actions and await the punishment, Sir.”

“You do know, Brenna,” he began, finally walking over to where she stood, “that a reprimand for those who know they are guilty achieves nothing.”

It was hard not to shiver at the look of critical indulgence he gave her. “Administrator-”

His stare was piercingly hard even though his words weren’t. “I believe in chances, Brenna.”

“I…Adminis—”

“Find them.”

The soft command, issued though her rising panic, sent her scrambling for the door in relief. For the select few who escaped his ire, Calder had always expected an act of penance that far surpassed their original mistakes.

“Brenna?”

She nearly skidded to a stop when his voice called her back. Had Calder changed his mind about—

He stood motionless with his back to the windows, his eyes following every moment that she made, every tremble, every nervous flutter of her eyelids.

“Spare no expense.”

She found it hard not to squirm under his stare. But the relief that coursed through her veins was soon replaced by contriteness and gratitude for the second chance he’d offered on a golden platter. It would be foolish not to take it.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“I expect better news the next time I see you.”

Brenna could only hope she didn’t disappoint.

oOo

The alcove was warm and dark, a comfortable resting place. But it couldn’t be their last stop, not when they were way too close to something that resembled freedom. At this particular height, far above the heat and the chaos of the mining operations, Daniel could see that the upper regions were old and musty, barely supporting the black, opaque ceiling that in all likelihood, hid the existence of the city’s darker underbelly from its inhabitants.

And beyond that, the wide, open spaces of the city—or the desolate wintry landscape—awaited them.

Pushing aside his morose thoughts, Daniel dug into the food bag, dismayed to find it nearly empty. Still, politeness won out over the gnawing hunger as he held out the last piece of bread to Teal’c and tried not to look too longingly at it.

“Would you like the last one?”

“I believe that you are in greater need of sustenance than I am.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t bother to argue and bit into the last bit of the mouldy bread, barely tasting its rancid flavour.

“You are weary and require rest, Daniel Jackson.”

Teal’c quiet voice startled him out of his musings.

Daniel started to shake his head immediately, an instinctive gesture bred into him in the mines, where tiredness and exhaustion were best kept to oneself. Only the realisation that he’d just left his old life behind stopped him mid-action. But shaking off the remnants of behaviour honed in the brutal environment of the mines was easier than it really looked, particularly when watching one’s own back was imperative in a place where human life was cheap.

But it was Daniel Jackson, not Carlin, who had always believed in the value of human life. Respected its sanctity, convinced that it couldn’t be measured in material terms, thinking that he ultimately stood morally heads and shoulders above those who thought otherwise. Admittedly, it had been a conviction that had only been strengthened by collective memories of those whom he’d lost throughout his life—his parents, Nick, Sha’re: tragedies that were constant reminders that that life was fragile, precious and not to be squandered. But in a place where throats were casually slit for an additional bowl of food, he knew that as Carlin, he’d picked his share of fights in that place, defending his own rations, allowing an aggression that he’d never known existed to be his personal shield.

All it had taken was a memory wipe for him to briefly become the person that he’d sworn he’d never be. Or was Carlin simply the manifestation of Daniel Jackson’s darker side? The _Hyde_ doppelganger who had been there all along, emerging only when someone had loosened its chains?

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

The time for the impromptu confession of sins or exhausting introspection sure as hell wasn’t now.

In fact, Daniel wasn’t sure if he’d be willing to even talk about this for a very long while, which made it incredibly convenient to push that nagging thought aside to focus on the task at hand. With a cynical chuckle, he wondered just when Jack’s special brand of repression had started to rub off him.

Looking up at Teal’c who sat unmoving in the position of Kel’no’reem, he wondered, not for the first time, how he kept that serene equilibrium. But perhaps, it was during times like these that Teal’c age really showed.

“I’m not—well, actually yes, I am tired,” he admitted, testing the truth of his words on his tongue, getting once again used to the liberty of speaking his mind.

Next to him, Teal’c tilted his head in uncertainty. “Perhaps it is wiser to rest than to labour on.”

Teal’c always spoke like there was all the time in the world and more, making Daniel feel like an errant child sitting at a great-grandparent’s knee.

“Labour on,” he repeated, the words sparking the vivid remembrance of an endless toil deep beneath the surface where people existed only to work.

He appreciated the Jaffa’s concern, knowing that it was beyond tempting to put his head down and slip into much-needed sleep for which his body had been crying out ever since they’d started climbing. But there was nothing more he wanted than to get out of the place that had forcibly erased their memories, imprinted onto them false personalities and held them as slaves for weeks or even months on end.

“Indeed.”

“This is our best chance. The shifts are going to rotate soon and if we don’t use this window of opportunity, it will be another nine hours before we’ll get another try at this.”

Only the small lift of an eyebrow conveyed Teal’c silent disagreement.

“Then we shall continue.”

oOo

They had climbed for what seemed like hours, when in reality, only minutes must have passed. But fatigue was weighing them down, pulling at their limbs with invisible hands.

But they were nearly there. From where they stood, Daniel could already see the beginnings of the long, sloping roadway carved deep into the rock face where the sub vent shafts lay.

Several seconds later, he found a concave foothold and swung himself into tight crawl space in the upper parts of complex behind Teal’c, already feeling the chill of the exterior atmosphere despite the vertical distance that still separated them from the surface. Daniel righted himself to see the heavy dust trails in the ceiling made by Teal’c’s searching fingers, catching sight of a seam that seemed to indicate the presence of an emergency hatch.

It made his breath hitch involuntarily. Imminent freedom lay beyond those doors.

The harsh rattling sounds of a pounding snowstorm against the heavy door gave him pause.

“I don’t think we’re in the city anymore,” he ventured uncertainly.

“It would appear not.”

So the mining complex was a lot larger than it looked from below. And without any schematic of the place, there wasn’t anyway to know just how large it was, or how far out it stretched beyond the city’s concrete borders.

Again, they left it to chance. Daniel had lost count of the number of times SG-1 had actually done that, to the point where that had seemed the only way SG-1 managed to get home alive most of the time.

He cast a deliberate look down at his clothes. Despite the fabric’s thickness, the tunic offered practically no protection from the freezing winds and the sub-zero temperatures. In the mines, the cold had been offset by the number of opening burning fires and the heat generated from the mining equipment. For a split second, he yearned for that forgotten comfort of its warmth, then cast aside the traitorous thought.

“And if this isn’t inappropriate dressing, I don’t know what is.”

Teal’c’s lips quirked. “You have regained yourself, Daniel Jackson.”

“Yeah,” he said, grimacing and eyed the door. “Did I mention I hate this?”

“You do not wish to escape?”

“No. Not that,” he amended and grimaced at the lameness of what he was about to confess. “I, uh, never really liked the cold.”

“You are stronger than you think you are.”

“I’m looking forward to the uncontrollable shivering, incoherence and everything generally associated with hypothermia.”

“It is time to go.”

Still, Daniel hesitated. “We really didn’t plan too well for this, did we?”

“We are to find Major Carter and O’Neill. The city would be our only hope.”

He just needed a minute to sort himself out, or so he told himself. “There’s probably a manhunt for us now. They obviously know what we’re doing. And wherever the Stargate is, it’ll be heavily guarded.”

“It is unlike you to find excuses, Daniel Jackson.”

Daniel heaved a heavy sigh in response, knowing Teal’c had hit a sore point. But it was more than an excuse to not try. He paused to examine his own mental state, sifting through the emotions of the days since he’d overcome the mindstamp, only to come to a realisation that the sudden unwillingness also stemmed from a deeper fear of what lay out there after the months of harsh but structured routines in the mines. Fear of the unknown, of finding what awaited them. Fear of learning that his friends could well be long dead. Fear of losing even more than what they might potentially gain from this escape.

“You’re right. I’m thinking too much,” he finally said, closing his eyes briefly in consternation before forcing his mind back to the task at hand. “So we go out, look for the city. Hope we don’t freeze to death while doing so. How hard can this be, right?”

“Indeed. Are you ready?”

“Uh, no.”

The deep breath he took still didn’t prepare him for the blast of ice that was hurled straight into his face by the strong winds when Teal’c forced open the hatch. Choking and coughing at the sudden chill that blew into the alcove, Daniel pushed himself out of the hatch, then knelt to pull Teal’c up.

There was a strange smell in the air and he hoped to god that it wasn’t too toxic that he’d keel over before he made his destination. But only when he straightened did he notice the red sky that was violently bleeding into uneven shades of yellow, purple and blue.

Dusk. That meant all they had were a few minutes before darkness fell. Or before they collapsed of hypothermia—whatever came more quickly.

But in the swirling winds, it was near impossible to see a couple of metres ahead of them, let alone the giant domed structure of the city, wherever it was.

Daniel stuck a foot out, sank immediately into the knee-deep snow, then put another foot out in front of him, desperately trying to regain his balance before he tumbled over. A strong arm hauled him out, then yanked him against the solid bulk of a body that seemed hold itself steadier in the storm.

Teal’c.

“I can’t see which way!”

Still, Teal’c moved the both of them, slowly, excruciatingly across the distance. It passed as a blur to him, as the cold seeped into his bones.

Then, Daniel stumbled. Again. This time, he stayed flat on his face, feeling the world spin around him, his racing thoughts falling over each other in a jumble that made no sense.

And why was it so hard to breathe?

From a distance, he thought he heard a voice urgently shouting his name. Daniel lifted his head to acknowledge the sound, but even that felt too heavy to move.

God, it was too cold and he was beyond tired. He refused to be a liability…but he also found that he didn’t care anymore, deciding to give into the sudden drowsiness that enveloped him in darkness.

oOo

It was the smell of food that woke him up. Real, solid food cooking on a grill, like the meat that hung roasting for hours over the Abydonian fire pits-

Daniel snapped open his eyes, panicked by the sudden darkness that didn’t seem to lift. Moving only by instinct, he clapped a hand over his eyes, then tugged away a sleep mask of sorts that was covering them.

Vision returned in patches of blues, greys and green, and with it, his cognitive faculties.

Vaguely surprised to find a soft covering lying beneath him, he stretched experimentally then rolled to a sitting position, feeling his heartbeat slow as he took in his surroundings. He still wore the rough-hewn, orange attire of the mines but it was now torn in several places, offering scant protection for anything colder than the temperatures within this place. 

A small fire, safely contained within an oval metal cipher, was creating the necessary warmth he needed. It burned in the corner near his cot, casting harsh, flickering shadows on the dark, uneven walls. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare blindly at the dancing orange flames, simply grateful that he had simply woken up. That his extremities hadn’t fallen off in the blinding cold.

But where was this place? Where was Teal’c?

The details of his surroundings sharpened in his second perusal of the space where he’d slept. And where he once thought was a dead end was actually a narrow space that opened out to…some place else. There were signs of life, that much he was sure.

Who were these people? Had they found him and Teal’c?

In the end, curiosity and hunger won out.

Daniel got to his feet, glad to see that his footsteps were reassuringly stable. Tentatively, he walked through the small corridor and followed its slight curve until it opened up into a bigger space where a group of people dined around a roasting spit.

They talked in hushed voices, the sharp rise and fall of their whispered voices hinting an ongoing argument. They hadn’t noticed him, but it wouldn’t be too long before someone did. Automatically, he sought the golden tattooed forehead of his friend, feeling his anxiety rise until he finally saw its glint that caught the firelight in a corner.

“Daniel Jackson.”

The sound of his name said with a lilting accent halted all conversation.

Slowly, he stepped into the dining area. “Yes?” He ventured hesitantly, looking for the man who spoke.

From the mass of people, a tall figure stood, backlit by the light of the cackling fire, gesturing to the carved meat that still dripped with the fat in which they were cooked. “And I assume that you are hungry?”

Daniel shifted cautious eyes to the table, the tension in his shoulders only alleviated by the sight of Teal’c’s slight tilt of the head. Conceding, he nodded once. “Yeah, I am actually.”

“Good. Take a seat.”

The group of people suddenly parted, leaving him a space between Teal’c and an older man with dark, knowing eyes. The urge to run suddenly pounded in his head. Run from the middle of nowhere? Back into a snowstorm that he’d barely survived? The rational part of his mind dismissed that idea immediately, scorning the desperation in it.

Which left both him and Teal’c with no choice but to sit, eat and basically put themselves at the mercy of whoever these people were. He hadn’t woken up a captive in chains…but when was that sufficient proof of civility in what they did?

Stepping forward with a frown, Daniel took his seat. Reaching for the plate that was passed to him, he took a surreptitious sniff of the food piled high, struck by a stray memory of an alien civilisation that offered him both food and the chieftain’s daughter as they aimed to please their visitors from another world…in what seemed a lifetime ago.

_Tastes like chicken…it’s good…_

The soft, reassuring voice of Teal’c helped calm his nerves. “It is not poisoned, Daniel Jackson. My symbiote would have otherwise rejected this sustenance.”

A small smile found its way to his lips. “I know. Thanks, Teal’c.”

Still, he hesitated, perhaps out of politeness or the cultural training in his years studying anthropology and archaeology, needing to know just whom he was sitting with. Assessing their trustworthiness, rather than reaching an eager hand out in friendship.

With a start, Daniel realised how much he’d changed in the course of a few years.

He’d been a different man back then, without the military training that came with being on SG-1, living too comfortably within the shades of grey that he couldn’t—never wanted to—acknowledge situation or argument that was presented in either black or white.

But now, distrust overshadowed naïveté, coming more easily than he thought it would.

The same lilting voice came from the unsmiling man who sat to his left, pushing away his sudden insight. “Eat,” he said with a gesture that was more of a command than an invitation. “And then we’ll talk.”


	12. The name game

She floated just beyond full consciousness, held rigid in that state by the invisible bonds of subliminal thought that clung to her and refused to let go.

The sonorous sounds of metal hitting metal chased away the surrounding mist, attesting to the true hopelessness of their situation. But a faceless man worked relentlessly to free her, his anxiety and panic radiating off in waves that compounded her own.

Growing desperation was hollowing out her stomach, making her fear for _him_ more than herself. If he wouldn’t leave, then his own life was also forfeit, along with hers.

_The C-4's going to blow, you have to get out of here!_

They were going to die and there was nothing they could do about it. But she was already taking sick comfort in the fact that they’d be together when they did, in a clichéd parody of some tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.

_Sir, there’s no time!_

A choked gasp rose in her throat when he finally looked up.

Jonah.

Thera blinked awake, sluggishly fighting the lingering remnants of a dream so vivid it could have been a memory. Clutching her blanket in an effort to sort through her jumbled thoughts, she inhaled deeply, allowing the cool air and the comforting darkness to sooth her frazzled nerves. In a bid to shake herself free of the disturbing dream, she pushed to her feet, only to sit down again when the disorientation became too great.

In the contemplative stillness, it was easy to admit that her thoughts had, in the past two weeks, constantly drifted to their last, bitter argument that came after their passionate kiss. It was also all too easy in the early days, to justify her actions as a product of her own trusted intuition that had screamed at her to run. Consequently, driven by a desperation that had arisen from the swirling mess of emotions she’d felt pressed against the concrete wall, she’d pushed him away—all too convincingly—with a lie that he’d bought, despite the hollowed, aching loss that had never left since he walked away.

She hadn’t seen Jonah at all since the day he’d stalked off in anger and the truth was, she missed him. More than she should. The other team had accompanied the past few shipments and when it had been his turn, the transport craft had been long gone by the time she’d come down.

Just as hindsight had helped her realise the extent to which her words destroyed the budding friendship they seemed to have, it seemed as though he was taking every opportunity to avoid her at every turn. Not that she blamed him when it had been her own inexcusable behaviour that she questioned.

Or perhaps it had been her subconscious at play, demanding that she sort things out with him before it granted her a proper night’s rest.

She pushed taut fingers into her temple, attempting to rub the lingering ache away.

Lying alone with the darkness as a protective shield, Thera wished, not for the first time, that she’d simply confessed to what she’d denied in the first place. Not just denied, but denied with a coldly cutting remark aimed to repel, hurt and destroy.

_A moment of weakness. Because you’re not good enough._

But even the hard soul-searching that had stretched two weeks and counting hadn’t explained the sudden impulse to sever even the small, tenuous connection they had. If pursuing anything more with Jonah had felt wrong, there hadn’t been any concrete reason that she’d thought of why they shouldn’t…as much as she had hated the fact that she somehow couldn’t.

Or maybe it was simply hard to accept that there was something about Jonah that sent her into free fall, down to a place where control was only an abstract concept. That there seemed to be a familiar edge to him that had made her examine more closely how she’d really wanted to live her life, a latent heat in him that ignited her desire to feel his skin sliding along hers…and a dark, dangerous side that made her constantly wonder if she was doing the wrong thing.

And in return, her fear and confusion had pushed him away. He could certainly handle it but simply put, Jonah hadn’t deserved those words at all, even if she wasn’t sure where this whole _thing_ was all leading. It only seemed that her apparent, newfound ability to hurt those she actually cared about simply because she hadn’t managed to rein in own insecurities just made it all that more unforgivable.

_Cared?_

Thera tentatively allowed the word to sink in, knowing that it was a perfect summation of the emotions she’d been trying to deny. The connection that she’d felt with Jonah had been immediate and the chemistry evident, despite the rocky, flirtatious start that they had.

But when had desire shifted into something more?

The peripheral noises of an awakening city allowed the alarming thought to dissipate into the room’s darkness.

Unconsciously, Thera heaved a sigh of relief. This was unknown territory on which she couldn’t yet bring herself to tread, too soon after

A quick glance at the wall clock told her that the city library was just opening its doors to the public. With scaled model’s construction nearly complete and the project’s simulations running day and night in the facility, her getting time off was Yllara’s concession for a prominent scientist who was, as she’d said, also one of the most lauded in Neithana’s history.

Wasn’t that the reason why she’d found herself back in Neithana so quickly after her last visit? For a whole day’s leisurely research in the classified archives on the previous Korros project and its socio-economic fallout in preparation for the conference after the test run on the scaled model?

But if there was a part of her that wondered if it had to do with an unstated need to be closer to where Jonah lived and worked, there was an opposing part of equal size that lived to deny this.

With a conscious effort to push the uncertainty into a place where it could be better left ignored, she swung herself out of bed more roughly than usual and disappeared into the bathroom.

oOo

The chicken-like meat had been scraped clean from the skewers. Like Teal’c, Daniel had eaten his fill, unconsciously recalling patterns of learned behaviour and cultural configurations, unable to ignore the suspicion at the back of his mind that the meal had felt like his last supper. Only the strangers had eaten in silence, surrounded by the textured sounds of an unknown language that bounced off the hard, icy walls.

They’d given both him and Teal’c parkas, fed them and housed them in temporary quarters, which was way more than what the mines had ever done for them. But if these people were expecting his unquestioning gratitude, they would soon find out that bribery didn’t come easy without the answers he needed.

For survival, he was willing to negotiate. That far have the mighty fallen, he thought with a sardonic chuckle.

“We found you in the orange garb of the prisoners in the mines.”

Daniel snapped his head to the man by his side, taking a moment to size him up.

Middle-aged, a weather-beaten face, with a thousand years of hardened experience and intelligence behind those piercing grey eyes.

It would be a fatal mistake to talk to him as an anthropological specimen.

Daniel returned the man’s steady stare. “That’s because we were prisoners.”

“You escaped?” His deep-set eyes flicked to Teal’c. “With this other…man?”

“I like to think that we did, yes. And Teal’c, here,” Daniel gestured, “is a Jaffa.”

The news had barely produced a flicker of interest in the man’s face. A small, enigmatic smile broke out on his face. “Then you have touched what we want.”

It made no sense.

Daniel frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You were former slaves in the mines. You were looking for something. What is it?”

He exchanged a wary glance at Teal’c, suddenly noticing that the whole dining area had gone quiet in anticipation of his response. How was this of any importance to these people who lived in caves? And why had this man asked about—?

With a start, he realised that this piece of information was their bargaining chip, to be used wisely. The dynamics of the conversations had just shifted, Daniel thought with satisfaction.

“Yeah, before we get to that...you already know my name. What’s yours?”

The man smiled humourlessly, recognising the subtle shift in the conversation as well as Daniel did. “Very well. I am called Meslar Tving, leader of the group called the Planet Protection Agency.”

_Planet Protection-_

Nothing in Netu could have prepared Daniel for this. “You’re…environmentalists?”

Tving’s smile widened. “In a manner of speaking. Now, it’s my turn. What was it that you mined?”

Daniel shrugged once. “A mineral.”

“Tell me more.”

Daniel leaned back slightly, meeting Teal’c watchful eyes for a second. So was this the way it was going to work.

A piece for a piece. A barter system that traded information instead of goods.

“I’m sorry,” he replied mildly, making his stance clear, “who did you say you were?”

“You heard me perfectly well the first time, Mr. Jackson,” Tving said blandly. “Now let me tell you how this is going to work. We are in need of information. You want your freedom. There is something to be gained for everyone.”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” he concurred.

“Do you object, Mr. Jackson?”

With a furrowed brow, Daniel sat silent for a moment, contemplating the offer. Clearly Tving’s question hadn’t been posed out of mere curiosity. Out of bored politeness perhaps, since it was no secret that he had the upper hand. But if Tving was looking for answers beyond what he and Teal’c could provide, they’d have everything to lose. From the corner of his eye, Daniel saw Teal’c tilt his head imperceptibly, a gesture that mirrored his reluctant own acquiescence. 

“No,” he said finally, “no, we don’t.”

The satisfied clap of Tving’s hands echoed sharply around the walls.

“Good. We’ll make you a deal, Daniel Jackson. Do your best to help us and we will help you get back home.”

oOo

Frustrated, Thera snapped the last journal shut and allowed her head to fall into her hands.

Yet another day at the library. Boring, simple and academically indulgent, just the kind that she liked for now, even if her original intention to dedicate some time to leisure reading had morphed into a comprehensive study of the equations of minimising energy loss during the compound stabilisation process.

Time had flown without her knowing it and the throbbing pain in her head was getting worse as the seconds ticked by.

But still, it hadn’t felt like time well spent. Instead, restlessness had been a constant companion in her self-imposed confinement in a place that she’d called her favourite spot in the whole world at the age of fourteen.

Thera swivelled out of her chair at one of the study tables and stretched. As though on autopilot, she walked down the rows of shelves, giving into the impulse to run her fingers along the spines of the scientific journals that lined the shelves, feeling the dust coat them, yet uncaring of the dirt they left on her.

There was something about the hallowed hush of a library that made her hair stand on end. Like the museum experiences she remembered of her childhood, people walked carefully, spoke quietly and carried an all-round sense of awe that tangibly contributed to creating an atmosphere of consecrated space where the history of a people, of the civilisation was remembered in print.

_But what about mine?_

That strange thought made her stop short…one that incessantly whispered about the gaps in her memory hadn’t even allowed her to remember her own personal history. Troubled, she picked up her pace, then stopped once more further down the shelves, wondering about the lasting effects of nightsickness.

The doctor at the facility had reassured her that she was indeed free of it. But what then, explained the sudden, terrifying hallucinations from a life that she’d never led? Hadn’t the treatments worked for her? Or perhaps there was something the doctor hadn’t mentioned, something that was wrong with _her_?

The scientific journals suddenly forgotten, Thera moved with a new purpose, making her way to the section that archived all resources on behavioural therapy. Ten minutes later, she was seated with a pile of books on the table, impatiently leafing through the sections with a hurried hand.

“The representation theory of emotional disorders,” she muttered to herself, “A clinical study of-”

An article caught her eye. Faded, with a few letters missing where the paper creased, but readable.

**_Beyond the environmental fallout of the Korros disaster: the prevalence of emotional disorders in the general population_ **

_The unprecedented calami- of the failed Korros experiment had resulted in_ _a sharp increase in emotional disorders; consequently, recent research has raised the salient issue of altering traumatic memories and its treatment implications._ _Diagnostic sympt- for such disorders include re-experiencing the original trauma through flashbacks or nightmares, avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma._ _Studies have shown that fear memories can change when recalled, a process referred to as reconsolidation._

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_Reconsolidation of memory can be influenced by neurobiological manipulations during or shortly after the reactivation period. These manipulations are thought to alter protein synthesis directly_ _or by interacting with the release of neurotransmitters in the_ _basolateral complex, the cortical nucleus and the medial nucleus of the medial temporal lobes of the brain._

Enough.

Thera snapped the book shut and pushed it away.

That much she knew. Neithana constantly lived in the shadow of the first Korros disaster, its domed ceiling a cautionary tale of man’s failed attempt to control elements beyond his limited understanding. But if the impact on the planet’s geological environment had been catastrophic, its sociological impact more than surpassed it when the Administration found an exponential rise in emotional disorders that attested to a broken national psyche and an irreparable loss of confidence in the leadership.

But this was the first time that she’d ever heard of a study that impeded the return of traumatic memories and the idea that people would have welcomed such a move…was both understandable and disconcerting. Then again, she hadn’t lived through the near-destruction of the city when the planet was sent into a tailspin, hadn’t seen what it would have been like to endure the complete annihilation of all the things held familiar and dear.

Reaching for the second journal on top of the pile, Thera mentally filed away that disturbing revelation. Mechanically, she flipped its pages, the bold print of yet another article calling for attention.

**_Processing of visual stimuli in nightsickness and personality disorders: A combined behavioural and magnetoencephalographic study_ **

_Magnetoencephalography (MEG) was used in eleven non-medicated patients behavioural disorder and nine age-matched healthy subjects. Behavioural responses to visual stimuli and an emotion discrimination task were evaluated. First, participants had to silently watch faces, houses and situations. Emotional expressive faces then had to be judged from two basic emotions in a two-alternative forced choice task._

_This study provides evidence for disturbances in cortical visual perception in these patients regardless of emotional salience of the stimulus. In line with previous studies, subtle deficits in visual perception might be related to impairment in interpersonal communication in personality disorders._

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Thera frowned, feeling more confused that she’d been before she’d begun. That nightsickness was considered as a personality disorder was not too surprising a fact, but the treatment to restore memory confidence had created its own set of problems?

Feeling as though she’d been placed in a middle of a puzzle with no beginning or end, she heaved a sigh. Absently, she thumbed through the sixth book, allowing the words to slip past without much notice. But her browsing fingers had snagged the yellow pages of a tagged edge, the feeling of paper against flesh causing her to look down.

**_The effects of emotional salience, cognitive effort and meta-cognitive beliefs on a reality monitoring task in hallucination-prone subjects_ **

Hallucination-prone subjects. That sounded…encouraging.

_One hundred normal subjects were administered a reality monitoring task. Words were presented by the experimenter. After each word, subjects were asked to say the first word that came to their mind. Words varied in terms of emotional valence and cognitive effort (high cognitive effort for words requiring longer latency times to associate a word and vice versa)._

It was something worth reading, Thera decided, even if some of the medical terms didn’t make sense. Perhaps it would even go some way in explaining the dreams and flashbacks of a non-existent past that she never had.

 _Following a delay, words were presented consisting of those already presented by the experimenter or the subject (old) and those never presented before (new). For each word, subjects were required to identify whether the word was old or new. If the word was identified as old, subjects were required to identify the source_ of the _word (subject or experimenter). The process was repeated multiple times until subjects correctly identified both old and new words, followed by phrases and entire pages of narratives that eventually formed an integral and permanent part of their consciousness._

_Admittedly, reality monitoring is a delicate task that depends on the stability of the subject’s original memories. Axon amputation and apoptosis, when employed with a specific amount of injected into the putamen, present a viable solution that has been known to sever traumatic memories from the subject’s consciousness but it is not without risks._

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She found that it was impossible to read anymore when the shivers began.

“Reality monitoring,” she whispered into the quiet gloom of the library, rolling the words around as she processed the abstract jargon.

_You think too much, Carter._

The statement fell abruptly into her consciousness like an order given as an affectionate caress. Out of reflex, Thera whipped her head around with the expectation of putting that voice to a face. The silence and the creaking bookshelves were her only companions.

Carter. A…name? Who was Carter?

Was she nightsick? How did the Korros project play into-

This was madness. _She_ was going insane. A violent roll of her stomach seemed to confirm it.

The questions were piling on top of one another, twisting together an indeterminate tale so baffling and fragmented that reality and fiction had no distinction. Yet she still had her senses, didn’t she? That she was a high-functioning adult with a wealth of scientific achievements had proven that much. Did it matter that her personal memories were skewed and partially reconstructed after that debilitating bout of nightsickness?

With growing realisation, she knew it did. It mattered, a lot.

Amid the confusion, Thera latched blindly onto the one thing that stood out: a tangible, indisputable form of reference that she hoped would go some way in providing a measure of clarity.

If pulling up her own medical file was going to be the only recourse in the ever-growing need to satisfy her curiosity about stigma she’d long carried about the soundness of her mental health, then it’d have to do, despite her reservations about stepping where she shouldn’t be stepping.

Even then, such information was confidential, the computer systems only granting access to a select few in the Administration. So it was out of reach.

Or was it really?

The ventilators hummed as they began a new cooling cycle, interrupting Thera’s half-hearted attempt at justifying her potential, law-breaking actions before they had even been executed. Snapping herself out of the dilemma, she stood and packed up her things just as the library’s closing announcement rang through the halls in an automated voice.

She walked back to the shelves, finding an odd sense of calm in slotting the journals back in their respective holding areas, promising herself to do the very thing over which she’d hemmed and hawed for long enough.

Jonah needed to hear her apology and his apartment really wasn’t too far from where she stood.

Sighing at the momentous task ahead of her, she returned to her table and gathered her things. Heading for the shortest way out of the massive library through the section that housed the birth records and the obituaries of all the Neithanans, she slowed her pace as she walked past the tall shelves, allowing herself a moment to study the meticulous classification of the dates of birth and death.

A last, quick sweep of the section and then she’d go—

A small, hardbound red book, incongruous among the black tomes, stood at the end of the topmost shelf, wedged haphazardly in between two heavy binders.

**Our glorious dead: an account of those sacrificed themselves in service during the Korros crisis**

There was nothing there that she would have found out of the ordinary, but today, her reluctance at the task ahead of her had overridden her lack of interest. That it had obviously been misplaced was making it just that slightest bit more intriguing.

A minute later, Thera was holding the book in her hands, the short ladder that she’d used for climbing carelessly pushed to one side. 

_In commemoration of those who died in the catastrophe: we remember—_

There was a list of names and a short chapter dedicated to each one. Just as she’d expected as she restless thumbed through the old, thinning pages. It was the fourth name on the twelfth page, printed in a large typeface that made her rear back in shock. 

_Jonah Tuvall (Year 220 – 240), beloved friend and son._


	13. Lines in the Dark

He had only just planted his ass on the couch when the visitor alert sounded. For a minute, Jonah considered ignoring the damned alarm to focus on the game that was showing on his small, personal holographic scree—a size that didn’t even come close to the one in the bar, he thought resentfully.

He was off-duty, it was the end of the working cycle and since he couldn’t go back to his usual watering hole, there was nothing but an empty apartment and an exciting game that waited for him.

All thanks to a woman who-

_Not going there!_

But as much as he tried, it bugged him to death that he couldn’t scrub _her_ from his head as much as he wanted. He’d known from the very beginning that she was a celebrity of sorts in her own right, albeit a reclusive one with a reputation of unprecedented brilliance in her field. But he had seriously believed he had actually made some headway in this ridiculous dance they had been doing in an attempt to get to know her better on her own terms, away from the increasingly stifling trappings of the project.

And the thought that she had only been merely tolerating this _thing_ made him feel beyond embarrassed and infuriated.

Or maybe he’d simply gotten it wrong the whole time and she—

The alarm chirped again.

Focusing on the screen, Jonah tried to tune out the alert.

It chirped for the third time just as it became increasingly clear to him that whoever was behind that door wasn’t going to go away.

Grunting his impatient acquiescence, he hauled himself out of his comfortable seat and went to the door, typing in the command that would help lessen the material’s opacity so he could see just who had the nerve to interrupt a sacred time dedicated to sport.

A very familiar face stared back at him and for a moment, he was more than tempted to re-enter the commands in the locking mechanism that would simply solve all his problems in trying to forget her.

“Jonah! I know you’re there!”

Thera Arann was mouthing his name with an irritated, determined expression. Again, he contemplated about ignoring her as curiosity warred with the lingering hurt, wondering what the hell could have possibly brought her to his doorstep. With an effort, he locked down the swirl of chaotic emotions, mentally telling himself that there would be time for that later.

Scowling, he finally threw some caution to the wind and swung open the door. “What?”

Uncertainty had crept onto her face. “Could we talk? Please?”

He didn’t feel mollified in the slightest. “Yeah, about that, see, the last time we did that, it didn’t end too well.”

She winced and looked away. “Yeah, about that…I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Despite her apology, just seeing her was merely helping him recall the hurt of the first few days after the infamous incident and frankly, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to revisit it tonight. If at all. Especially since he’d been spending the days working himself up to a point where Thera Arann was just a name to be passed over in casual conversation.

The excited voice of the game’s commentator wafted to the door and with a start, Jonah remembered that he was in fact, in the middle of a broadcast of what was supposed really to be the game of the season. Not wanting to miss a second of it any longer, he stepped away from the door, leaving it up to her whether she wanted to follow.

She did.

Silently, he dropped back down onto the couch, his eyes automatically flicking up to the scores. Still level. He hadn’t missed too much. But he was impatient to get back to it anyway, and with half a plan forming in his mind to send Thera on her way out the door—

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” she ventured tentatively.

Jonah risked a quick glance at her. “Been busy,” he told her curtly.

“I think I know avoidance when I see it.”

He shut his eyes for a second, fighting his incredulous disbelief. He didn’t know what she was expecting of him and the fact that she’s shown up on his doorstep had thrown him so off-balance that it was simply easier to hang onto the familiar tendrils of anger that was slowly working its way into his responses.

“You want to talk avoidance?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not doing it now.”

Damn, that woman didn’t give up. At least, not when it suited her purposes.

“Look, whatever happened was a mistake. You’ve said it yourself,” he told her evenly. Yet there was barely controlled fury in his clipped responses, and he knew it. But had she really expected anything different from him? “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“I’m sorry for what I said,” she repeated, more quietly, with a surety that he didn’t feel. “It was cruel and unjustified. And I didn’t mean a word of it, you know,” For good measure, she tried to clarify, “that what happened was anything but a moment of weak—”

“I got what you said the first time round,” he interrupted her more gently this time, his eyes deliberately fixed on the game.

“Right.”

They sat motionless for long moments, the only sounds in the living room coming from the game. But as time stretched on, Jonah found himself getting fidgety. Whatever had transpired was in the recent past and because he was a typical male who understood his team more than he ever could of the opposite sex, he figured it was time to simply call it in.

Jonah waved an arm vaguely over the couch. “Look, Thera, let’s just say we both made…strategic errors. Tactical mistakes. No harm, no foul. Now that we’ve, you know, sorted this…”

He deliberately trailed off and glanced at the door in challenge. And hoped she would take that bait.

oOo

He was tossing her out on her ass.

Caught between wanting to explain and escaping the awkwardness of the situation, Thera stood up hurriedly.

“I, uh, should go,” she gritted out, feeling the irrational onset of a telltale burn in her eyes. “There’s a long day tom—”

His sigh was loud and heavy. “Sit down, won’t you?”

The order was soft, brooking no argument. It felt like second nature to obey. Slowly, she lowered herself down next to him once more.

“I didn’t like you at first, Thera,” Jonah spoke suddenly, his eyes still turned away from her. “Figured you were like the others who insisted that their combined smartness was greater than the laws of the whom damn universe.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair assessment.” Her quiet retort was instinctively defensive.

Finally, he looked at her, a faint gleam of amusement in his eyes. “In a way, you’re different.”

There was so much there left unsaid and in spite of the backhanded compliment Thera thought she’d detected in his words, she was more than aware of the distance that still needed to be bridged.

“I think I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Despite the solemn evenness in his tone, his guarded expression told her all that she needed to know. Intuitively, she knew Jonah wasn’t someone who easily trusted people, nor would he willingly step out to mend any broken fences if he perceived himself the injured party. Having taken a tentative step in asking her to stay, he’d left the rest up to her.

The coiled tension in her gut eased somewhat. But the thought of needing to explain her fears and her flashbacks, her funny dreams and her bout of nightsickness to someone who might not understand brought that queasiness back again. What she didn’t know was how he was going to react after learning that she’d been afflicted with an illness that had been for so long, stigmatised in a city that grew increasingly intolerant to those who apparently couldn’t keep their heads and their memories where they were supposed to be. The only question was, did she dare take that step that would inevitably leave her in a more vulnerable place if she revealed this closely-guarded secret of hers?

Thera heaved a sigh, throwing all caution to the wind. They’d started down this path the moment she’d turned up at his doorstep and she was reluctant to break the fragile truce that they had only just formed.

“I was nightsick for a long time,” she blurted out, only vaguely aware of his startled expression at this particular revelation. “And it took me even longer to recover. Only two things stayed constant during this time: my love for science and my dislike for everything military. The whys, the hows and all the details only came back later,” she continued weakly, remembering the helplessness, the weakness that she’d felt in the few weeks in the infirmary.

The incapacitation, the anchorless period of absolute disorientation, an unending sea of confusion…it all came back as an unpleasant blow to the chest as she spoke about the lack of control that she’d fought to regain.

Articulating the next bit, however, was going to be the hardest.

“But when I was…sick, what frightened me most was how easily I had lost control of my own body and my mind. That day, in that test facility under the ice, I felt, for that moment, that I had lost it again. And I need you to know that it’s not an excuse for how I behaved towards you. But I’m sorry anyway.”

Jonah leaned back when she broke off, the game on the holographic screen forgotten as he took in her words, momentarily into incredulous silence by the unexpected disclosure. He finally turned to her and swore under his breath.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But I do…understand, Thera. Been there, done that myself.”

“I just wish I could explain it better-”

“No, I really do understand,” he repeated, then grimaced. “I was…nightsick too.”

Time ground to a halt at his revelation.

“Wh…how…how could that have happened?”

“Just did, one day,” Jonah said and shrugged uncomfortably. “Thought I was simply been one of the lucky ones who contracted it because my head had chosen to unravel one day during a training exercise outside the dome.”

It took a while before she could speak, seeing how the same stunned look on his face mirrored hers. Wasn’t nightsickness a rare malady that swept into people’s lives suddenly and unexpectedly? Rare enough that it struck only once in a few million? That no one ever spoke about it made it near impossible to meet another nightsick patient.

And yet, there they were, defying the incalculable odds.

“I can’t believe this.”

It came out as a whisper, almost like a prayer of thanks and understanding.

“Ya think?”

His sarcastic rejoinder further untangled the knot in her stomach. But he’d said it with a note of finality that made her assume that the uncomfortable topic was done, it seemed. They’d beaten the monster and lived to tell the story.

Which still left her with the reason for her visit.

Thera hesitated, wondering at the wisdom of saying what she was going to say next. There was always going to be an inadequate explanation for the reluctance that had pulled her back that day and this doubt wasn’t what she wanted left unspoken and hanging between them.

“That day under the ice…it had also felt...wrong,” she said, dropping her gaze. “And I don’t know why.”

He stiffened when he realised what she was saying, preparing to draw away.

Unthinkingly, she reached out to touch the side of his face, halting any thoughts of regret and saw the sudden flare of something in his eyes, simply because she needed him to understand how her actions now contradicted her words.

He froze under her light touches, then reached for her wandering hand, trapping it under his larger one. With his other hand, he mimicked her previous action slowly, feeling her shudder as his fingers drew a slow line down the side of her neck. He shifted closer until he felt the warmth emanating from her body, his fingers keeping the tenuous contact with smooth skin.

“Does it still feel wrong now?”

It was difficult to breathe this close to him, let alone speak. Uncertainty warred with need, and for the first time in a long while, Thera knew she was giving into the baser, more powerful instinct that easily overcame her already-weakening resolve.

“No,” she answered honestly.

Tentatively, she pulled her hand from under his, then touched his lips with her fingers, watching as his eyes fell closed at the erotic contact. Still, he didn’t react, merely letting her trace its thin, sculptured contours with her timid touches.

Then the world in front of her eyes dissolved as he slid a slow hand behind her neck, circling with his thumb the place where hairline met skin. Moving both his hands down the thin linen that covered her arms, Jonah stilled immediately when he heard her gasp.

“And now? Does it feel wrong?”

Her exhaled breath was a cross between a strangled hiss and a sigh in his living room when he moved his wandering fingers up her arms and then back down where they brushed her clavicle.

“No.”

There was the slightest fraction of a pause before his lips lightly brushed her neck as he whispered, “And now?”

His hesitation emboldened her. All along, she’d fought against giving into a desire that seemed irrational, struggled against a nebulous feeling that this was wrong. Tired of the past that hung like a spectre over her, she only wanted the present to matter.

“No.”

oOo

Jonah pulled away without warning, leaving her bereft of his touch. Struggled with the strange, forbidden feel of her and utter mindless need that rode him hard. Caught up in a sudden, confusing tumble of undefined emotions, all he knew was to stop before he made a fool of himself despite her implicit consent.

Knowing it all felt wrong somehow, but also so…fucking right.

“Thera, I-”

But she shifted, grabbed his face and fused her soft lips to his.

In the heat of her kiss, all rational thought disappeared.

Jonah broke their tangle of tongues, then half-tugged, half-pulled her on top of him. She moved willingly, straddling his hips as she locked her hands behind his neck, then searched out his lips again.

The kiss deepened and he held her still as she arched and instinctively ground herself against him, breaking their contact to groan his tortured appreciation at the sensation her movements were causing.

He wanted more, needing to reassure himself that she wanted this as much as him, that he was affecting her the same way she affected him when she turned his whole world over. Jonah slid his hands upwards, then moved his thumbs lightly over the heavy underside of her breasts, taking pleasure in the strangled gasp came from her mouth.

Thera’s head fell back, a physical but wordless manifestation of approval. As instinct took over conscious thought, she lowered her hands from his neck and placed them over his own, moving them around the erect, puckered skin that he could feel straight through the thin obstacle of her tunic. Mutely, he obeyed, driven now only by his own need entranced by the rapture on her face and the enthusiasm that he’d seen the first time they kissed.

His shirt was torn loose by her wandering hands as he blindly reached for the openings of her own, unfastening the small buttons on them before twisting them both around until she was flat on her back along the entire length of his couch.

The next second, his mouth was on the bare skin of her breast, hot and wet, teasing until she demanded more. He smirked against her sensitive skin, then moved to its twin and bowed his head towar-

The soft, distinct chirp of a caller alarm echoed through the living room, breaking the haze of passion.

_Of all the goddamned-_

He stilled above her, squeezing his eyes shut in consternation, fighting the urge to curse aloud at the untimely interruption.

“What was that?”

Jonah sighed in exasperation. Only his team or Cuinn’s team knew the number to his apartment. And as much of a pain in the ass he thought they were, he was also certain that they had enough respect for his personal downtime.

And if they were calling, it probably meant that the situation needed his attention.

“Probably work,” he muttered and rolled off her with no small amount of regret, walking to the handheld device at the corner of the living room that housed all his personal communication messages.

“Now?”

He cast a last regretful glance at the dishevelled picture she presented and absently wondered at his own ruffled state.

“Don’t move.”

The longing in the look he’d shot her as he retrieved his messages made his meaning clear—that there would be no stopping after he came back.

Hoping against hope that nothing was urgent. Right. When had that ever worked out?

Then he took the call and nearly swore a blue streak.

Thera was frowning when he returned, the conflict clear on her face. Dammit, this was exactly what he wanted to avoid. The second thoughts, the cock-blocks, the false starts.

“Stop thinking.”

She snapped her eyes to him. “What, Sir?”

_Sir?_

Ignoring the preoccupation with authority she seemed to have, Jonah padded slowly across the room and sank down wearily next to her.

“You’re thinking.”

She snorted in amusement. “It’s unnatural not to.”

“I have to go back,” he said abruptly, looking down at the shirt that she’d all but ripped apart. Then he sighed, knowing that the memory of tonight was going to have to stay with him for a while. Was there something greater than his own reservations putting a stop to…whatever they wanted to do? “Someone’s just gotten sick at work and I’ve been asked to take that shift. It’s a short one, but still a pain in the ass.”

With a barely muffled groan, Thera shut her eyes and lowered her face to his neck.

Automatically, his arms came around her, a cocoon of warmth. “So we’re okay?” She asked him, the layers of meaning clear in her simple question.

His answering look was both pained and wry. “Yeah, I think we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cos' I'm a little evil that way.


	14. Working out the Whispers

Their shared chamber was small, the cots barely comfortable.

Still better than the mines.

The cold was kept at bay by the geothermal heaters in a way Daniel hadn’t seen before, but the technologies employed by Meslar Tving and his followers to survive deep under the ice weren’t his concern at the moment.

The caution—and he used that word lightly—that the rest of the PPA members showed around him and Teal’c was understandable. To them, they were they intruders, a nuisance in their territory. Their presence was sufficient in arousing any sort of suspicions among a people whose way of life seemed to consist of subterfuge, sudden strikes and retreats.

It hadn’t mattered that he and Teal’c were unarmed and outgunned.

In the past week, Tving and the PPA council had relayed the planet’s environmental crisis, the roles they played as radical exiles who subscribed to an ideology grounded in extreme concern for their ailing planet.

Neithana, as he and Teal’c had learned, was merely a remnant of much larger continent that had sunk deep below subglacial landforms when a large-scale scientific experiment involving a volatile element about two centuries ago had somehow altered the angle of the entire planet’s axial tilt. The unfortunate coincidence of an extraordinary amount of solar radiation from the planet’s twin suns at the time of the disastrous experiment had not only helped usher in a planetary ice-age that raged on with no signs of change but also kept an amount of toxic particles permanently in the atmosphere.

Tragedy didn’t even come close to describing it. Even if much had been said and done about the city’s widespread failure of policing experimental scientific ventures, Tving and the council had still been adamant that the lesson they’d learnt was all too easily forgotten. The renewed interest in Korros, as they’d said, had been a prime example.

The Council, led by a shrewd Administrator, had been captivated by the idea of an enduring source of energy posited by a brilliant scientist named Thera Arann whose cautious but innovative ways had apparently been sufficient assurance for them to sanction the project’s continuation.

The second Korros project, as they’d claimed, was far from necessary. Neithana ran on sufficient geothermal power for at least the next five hundred years and with the stringent curb on births that placed a strain on the city’s recourses, all its inhabitants would have been long dead by then.

Or perhaps the salient point of the PPA’s manifesto was that Korros was Calder’s leverage in a ballot vote that lay not too far in the future.

As far as Daniel understood, they aimed to destroy every single last bit of the Korros project to expose the great lie that Calder was propagating through guerrilla warfare.

He sighed to himself.

The politics of disaster management. Where expediency leveraged new spaces—social, economic and political—and in the process of reconstruction, brought the worst out of even those who might have started out with noblest of intentions.

It looked as though he and Teal’c had just found themselves in the middle of an escalating tension that would reach boiling point sooner or later. To be accidentally caught in a crossfire was the worst place in which they could have found themselves.

But they needed the PPA, or at least its widespread intelligence network. Which meant they had little to no bargaining power, save for the limited information they could give about life in the mines. Daniel had tried anyway, finally learning after several rounds of trying to reduce the odds that were already stacked against them, that the Stargate lay deep within the city in the administrative centre, housed in a building with security so tight that their approach would be sniffed out a mile away.

He’d argued, cajoled and bartered.

In return for that sort of information, Tving had wanted an exhaustive layout of the mines, the range of equipment and the average amount of Korros produced every solar cycle. He’d told Tving all he needed to know to the best of their abilities, yet he sensed that there would come a time when even that wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

The doubt that had begun deep in his stomach returned.

They had merely been shown a side of Neithana’s convoluted history and Tving had certainly been persuasive enough in fashioning himself and his people as revolutionaries with a mission, operating single-mindedly with the sole aim of sabotaging the Korros shipments because they believed that mistakes as monumental as the first project’s meltdown shouldn’t happen again, in spite of the safeguards that Thera Arann had already put in place.

“You look troubled, Daniel Jackson.”

The calm, voice of the meditating Jaffa behind him stopped him in his strides. Sheepishly, Daniel stopped pacing, realising that he’d thoughtlessly been interrupting Teal’c’s _Kel’no’reem_ cycle.

“Oh, right. Sorry, Teal’c,” he said, “I don’t suppose you get back into _Kel’no’reem_ easily?”

“I am well acquainted with disturbances. They are unavoidable in these small living spaces.”

He forced himself to stop pacing and took a seat at the edge of his cot. “It’s still more than what we used to have for the last few months.”

“I concur, Daniel Jackson.”

A stream of hushed voices floated through the thick surfaces of their quarters. In his attempt to trace the source of the sound, he looked upwards and caught sight of the small ventilation vents that lay unobtrusively in the corner of the ceiling.

The walls fell silent, then seemed to reverberate with a deeper sound again.

A masculine voice. Countering a feminine one.

A conversation? An argument? A tactical planning session?

Daniel stood and tried to balance a foot on the cot. Awkwardly, he positioned himself with an ear tilted towards that hole that recycled and ejected air every few seconds.

_“…the security…that….Calder…Thera Arann’s scaled model….”_

_“…taking…the next chance that we get…”_

Truncated phrases were all that he found audible. In frustration, he craned his neck closer towards the vent until he nearly pulled a muscle…only to be pushed away by a firm hand.

“Your hearing range is inadequate, Daniel Jackson.”

He tried not to feel peeved at the Jaffa’s matter-of-fact observation. “Uh, okay.”

Teal’c took his place directly below the vent, concentrating on a conversation that was short and curt. Finally, there was only silence.

 “It would seem that Meslar Tving and his council have made preparations for a revolt in a place that is under the planet’s surface. The details are unfortunately lost to me.” Puzzlement laced the Jaffa’s voice, accompanied by a frown.

Daniel blinked, absorbing the unusually long sentence and felt the tendrils of alarm spread in his gut. “Revolt?”

“So it would seem.”

“Why? When?”

“I am unsure,” Teal’c said calmly. “The details are lost to me.”

Daniel moved to stand next to him, taking another glance at the now-silent vent. “Why do I feel like I need to be more worried about this than I should?”

“Indeed.”

Teal’c’s soft acquiescence made him look up sharply. “Oh boy. So I’m not the only one feeling too anxious about something that may not even be relevant to us?”

“It is best to exercise utmost caution in a situation in which we are distinctly disadvantaged.”

So Teal’c trusted them as much as he did. Or perhaps even less than he did. But he took things in his stride as they came, no matter how dire or trivial they were—a precious lesson, Daniel concluded, that he had to learn well and quickly as Apophis’s First Prime.

Never really did work, though.

“Right,” he murmured in reply, the sudden gleam that lit his eyes visible enough for Teal’c to raise a brow. “It wouldn’t hurt to do some digging of our own.”


	15. Touches in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in posting, but again, I can't guarantee the rest of the chapters would come as regularly as I like. I'm swamped with things right now, but I'll do all I can to finish this. Thanks for your patience and yes, I think this chapter is what loads of people have been waiting for.

The sound of the door softly clicking open had taken her completely by surprise.

He was early, much earlier than she’d expected. But a quick glance back out at the spectacular but lightening landscape from his windows showed the light emanating from the dome’s organic shield was slowly changing, casting the top edges of the buildings in uneven bands of shadow and pale orange hues.

Daybreak.

With some mortification, Thera realised that she’d stayed the whole night after he’d taken off for his shift, allowing the city’s rhythm to untangle her scrambled thoughts. Thoughts that had, for most part, revolved around the both of them. There was no mistaking the connection and the chemistry that had always characterised their fledgling friendship since the day they’d met in her isolated facility, yet that had also been bolstered by the obvious spark of attraction that she hadn’t understood why she’d tried to deny.

If it only had been that simple. But it wasn’t as though things had become any clearer in the intervening hours.

She launched her body off where she leaned against the balcony railings in embarrassed surprise as he slowly moved towards her, his face betraying nothing as he materialised out of the darkness that still shrouded his living room.

“I, uh-” Thera grimaced, trying to articulate why she hadn’t left and failing miserably at it. There were many reasons, yet all of them had risen and died halfway up her throat, jumbled and unsaid. “Sorry, I…really thought to leave but I lost track of time and didn’t know…when I thought of-”

Thera trailed off, her faltering explanation meeting an untimely end as she swallowed hard.

But it seemed that her obvious hesitation emboldened him.

She took a tentative step forward, feeling painfully awkward, looking at him through the glass that separated the protruding platform from the interior spaces.

“I’m glad you did,” he told her lowly, finally turning to meet her eyes. “Stayed, I mean.”

“I’ve missed you.”

Her layered statement shocked her into silence. And him too, from the looks of it.

Only then did she realise its implications – that it was a tacit admission on her part that the flirtatious dance they’d done around each other had for her, at some point in time, crossed the line into something more. From the subtle shift in his expression, he’d recognised it too.

Immediately, Thera dropped her gaze, fighting the urge to run as the plain truth managed to find its way through the tangle of confusion, hesitation and desire.

Jonah closed the distance, stepping out onto the rough, textured floor of the balcony, carefully maintaining an inch gap between them. Instead, he stood by her side and took in the view that she’d been facing all night, allowing his eyes to track the movement of a vehicle in the distance as it sped down a major arterial route that bisected the city from south to north.

The inscrutable look in his eyes had given way to something she didn’t dare name. “Did you?”

“Actually, I-” Thera backpedalled, regretting the impulsive instant, but before she could continue, he moved quickly, his lips slanting over hers, pushing the rest of her words back into muffled silence.

They slammed against the railings as frantic need overtook them, the thunderous impact on the glass barely registering on their overheated senses. Thera staggered forward, pushing against his weight as she hooked a leg high around his hip, grinding hard into the bulge in his pants.

“God, Thera-”

He jerked against her, then broke off the kiss, gasping, but she drew him back in almost immediately, shuddering against him when his hands snaked under the flimsy material of her shirt. There was nothing tentative, nothing patient about his touches as she arched into the weight of his heavy hands restlessly moving just beneath the curve of her breasts.

“Bedroom.” The command was harsh, grating and hoarse, the product of rapidly-slipping control.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Couch. Nearer.”

His acquiescence was a muffled laugh against her neck.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

oOo

Jonah had no intention of disagreeing.

But their tangle of limbs only brought them up as far as the side of the balcony door that faced the interior of his apartment, and this time, he pressed her against the glass with only a vague concern for the glass’s ability to take their combined weight.

Unable to wait, he pulled her shirt over her head, baring her naked torso. Watching her watch him, he ran a gentle finger over the weightiest portion of her breast, relishing the shudders that ran through her. Finally, he closed his lips over a pink tip, swirling his tongue over the tight skin, knowing he’d never get enough of her.

“God, please…”

Her unfinished plea went heeded as its twin received the same treatment.

Only when he moved off her for a moment did she yank open his pants, slipping her hands down the waistband of his underwear until coarse hair came into contact with the delicious warmth of her questing fingers. He lost all ability to think, her light touches freezing all movement for a second as he simply tried to breathe through the slow torture.

Thera stopped briefly and in that second where the roar in his ears dimmed a little, he managed to capture both her hands and pinned them behind her, angling himself so he was thrusting against her pelvis until she moaned and shuddered. The weight of his left hand over her imprisoned wrists gave her leverage to arch more deeply into him than he thought possible, the movement exposing the bare skin of her shoulders and her clavicle. Instantly, his mouth was there, nipping, licking and sucking at the smooth skin, capturing the taste of the woman who was bringing him to his knees in surrender.

Sweet, salty and so glorious. He wanted more, needed to inhale all of her—

Her fingers wandered to a place that made all rational thoughts disappear.

“Not yet.”

“Yes, now.”

No way in hell was he heeding her breathless objection, not at the very start at least. Jonah broke the contact, releasing her wrists then pulled away the thick skirt…only to see a trouser layer that the fabric panel of the skirt had obscured.

He blew out a panting breath. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“So, take them off.”

Her exultant laughter was a breathless exhale in the still air as he roughly pulled down the entire getup, uncaring of the slight ripping sound it made as it shimmied past her hips and down her ankles. Running his hands over her calves and up to her centre, he stilled for a moment, then moved his fingers straight over her hypersensitive flesh.

Her hands were busy too, rubbing, stroking, robbing him of breath. He pulled away from her, gulping sweet air, then lay back on his haunches, intent on tracing the same path with his tongue that his fingers had just taken.

A second later, his lips were where his hands were, savouring her scent, eliciting a keening cry of shocked pleasure that echoed sharply around the walls of his living room. A slender leg found its resting place on his shoulder as his fingers lightly probed her slick opening, then moved slowly along the entire length of her until all he heard were her ragged pants. Roughly, he gripped the insides of her thighs and shoved them wide.

Her soft protest was drowned out by a sultry moan when he slid his hands around her legs, tightened his grip on her and finally took what he wanted.

She bucked at the sensation, the movement involuntarily pressing herself more deeply against the glass and her back bowed, inadvertently raising her hips into his seeking mouth.

Jonah grinned.

 _Exactly_ what he wanted.

But apparently Thera had different ideas.

With a noise of impatience, she tightened her grip on his hair and with another hand at the bottom of his neck, she pulled him up from his kneeling position until he was once again pressed against her. Undoing the buckle and the opening of his pants, she pushed the obstructing material past his hips, just enough to free his erection.

She captured his lips this time, then his entire length was in her warm hands again.

He cried out sharply into her mouth, then pulled away with an effort. Somehow knowing that he’d reached the end of his tether, she braced herself against the glass, then wrapped a leg around his upper thigh, feeling his hands automatically move to cup her ass for support.

Almost immediately, Jonah sheathed himself in her, allowing her to get used to the stretch as much as he was able, letting his eyes slip shut at the overwhelming sensation of gripping heat.

It was too fast, too soon. It’d be all over before he could blink.

Grimly, he held on, thinking of everything but the woman he’d pressed to the glass. Somewhere in the distance, the faint whizz of morning peak-hour traffic filtered through the balcony. He focused on it momentarily, doing anything he could to pull himself back from the looming edge.

“Move.”

Her harsh whisper against his neck told him she was clamouring for release as much as him.

It was all the permission he needed. Reining in the urge to slam wildly into her, he withdrew slowly partway, then pushed back in, gritting his teeth at the pinpricks of what felt like electricity along his shaft as she gripped him tight.

Again and again, Jonah stroked in and out slowly, drawing out both their excruciating pleasure that he was sure bordered on pain. He felt her fingers ghosting unerringly over her own swollen flesh, brushing over the base of his erection, then felt her clenching with more regularity around him, knowing she was hanging by the thinnest of threads, just like he was.

But he didn’t want it to end, wanted to move over and into her all day long, wanted to ignore the growing strain on his knee and back—

“Move.” Thera repeated her earlier command, her voice now tinged with a growing desperation that he understood all too well.

Without warning, she shifted minutely, repositioning herself such that she took him in more deeply.

They groaned simultaneously, then she was urging him on as she tightened a hand around his neck, thrusting against him, harder than he’d been doing, feeding that frenzied need that had long spiralled out of control to a point of no return.

“More.”

“Good.”

He acquiesced with gritted teeth, tightening his hold on the curve of her hips, then slammed back into her hard, abandoning his previously slow, languorous strokes in the wake of her demand, placing them back on the straight path to oblivion.

The rhythm of his hips helped drag her fingers along her sensitive nerve endings and then she was there, giving into the white heat that seared her vision, not bothering to stifle her long, low moan as wave after wave of mindless, rocking pleasure obliterated everything but the feel of her around him.

As aftershocks broke over her skin, Jonah began to move again, having stilled as he rode with her through her orgasm. He drove hard into her, his strokes more erratic than regular as he sought his own release. Acutely aware that she’d started whispering burning words of encouragement in his ear, it wasn’t too long after her own climax that he stilled abruptly, letting a soft groan escape his lips as he pumped himself dry in her, relying only on her strength to keep him where she needed him to be.

After what seemed like an eternity, Thera finally released her leg from its holding position on his hip, the motion causing them both to gasp as he slipped out of her.

Only when his surroundings came back into focus did Jonah realise that they were still half-dressed. It was something he was going to rectify very soon.

“ _Now_ we get to the couch. Or the bedroom,” he said, drawing a smirk from her as he tore the remaining clothes from his body. “But not before we take off the rest of our clothes.”

Thera rolled her eyes, but followed his actions, letting her clothes fall in the haphazard pile on the floor. Then she joined him on the settee, settling into his large frame that was already stretched out comfortably along its length.

“This is great,” she murmured sleepily into his chest, as his own breathing evened out.

Finally he relaxed, boneless and exhausted, leaning against her as she relaxed against into him, the only sounds in their corner of the world were their harsh, uneven breaths that made warm puffs over each other’s damp skins. He felt an inexplicable weight falling from his shoulders, thankful that she’d stayed when he hadn’t asked her to.

And beyond surprised that they’d leaped over that mountain of distrust and ignited the spark of attraction in the last hour.

But the woman who stood before him wasn’t just any acquaintance. Thera had been for a while, the unknown variable, or better yet, a disturbance, who, in a short time, had sent him into overdrive, tossed his routine inside out and blurred the hard edges of his consciousness that resolutely proclaimed all scientists off-limits.

Yet he’d wanted her—and pursued this connection—with a desperation that astounded even him. Now that they’ve scorched the chill between then, what then?

There wasn’t any answers yet. He simply pulled her closer.

“Yeah, it is.”

oOo

They woke a few hours later after a light doze, sated yet wanting more, until Jonah suddenly pulled back from a particularly heated kiss, grimacing.

Thera shifted her weight off his body immediately, moving to lie at his side. “Is your knee bothering you?”

“I never told you about my knee,” he replied slowly, watching her closely.

She looked at him, startled by that piece of knowledge that seemed to come from nowhere.

“You’re right. But I just…somehow know that you have bad knees.”

His returning gaze was steady and cool, his expression strained. “You checked my medical records?”

This was exactly what she was afraid of.

“No! I-” Thera grimaced, pausing to stare at the blank walls, composing her thoughts. “Nothing like that at all. Would you believe me if I told you that I have dreams?”

From the frown appeared on his face, it was clear that he wasn’t following her apparent subject change.

“Don’t we all?”

She understood his impatience. But it was the explanation into which she was about to launch that made her hesitate. Was he going to believe her when what she was about to tell him sounded like a feeble excuse for something he already construed either as a fundamental breach of trust? But Thera knew she owed him an explanation and after all that had transpired in the last few hours, she found that she wanted their newfound closeness to last. Even if it meant risking a part of herself that she’d always kept hidden from everyone else.

“No,” she began, then paused, delaying the inevitable, knowing the next few minutes were going to be pivotal in their fledgling relationship. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she forged on hurriedly before her courage deserted her. “I seem to be having…visions or dreams and believe it or not, you’re in them. And in them, I…feel like I’ve known you before, like we’ve done things together, gotten injured together, and-”

Thera broke off in a desperate but fruitless endeavour to school her thoughts, an undertaking that was made infinitely harder by Jonah’s stony silence.

When he finally spoke, however, it wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

“Me too.” The confession was devoid of his earlier wariness, said so softly that she nearly missed it.

Shock didn’t even begin to describe the curling sensation in her stomach, her suddenly clammy hands and her accelerating heartbeat.

“You dream too?”

At his curt nod, she probed uncertainty, “Of…of me?”

The laugh that escaped his lips was humourless. “I wish. It’s not that simple.”

The euphoric haze that had enveloped her earlier evaporated like it’d never existed. “Tell me. Please.”

Jonah rubbed a weary hand over his face, a gesture so familiar that it made her chest constrict.

After a long while, he sighed and warned, “There’s nothing coherent about it.”

At her nod, he continued, “I just see…things to do with a large, blue pool of water, funny green clothes. There’s us. Holding funny-looking guns. We’re running. Sometimes, we’re with others. But…there’s also-” he stopped, squeezing his eyes shut, as though willing the fragmented images to reassemble themselves. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Jonah—”

“They don’t make sense.”

“I dream of the same things.”

His shock was a palpable force that nearly bowled her over.

“I see the same things,” she told him shakily again, knowing she was close to losing it, especially when their strange flashbacks shared too many similarities for it to pass off as a coincidence. Before Jonah had confessed the strange visions that had afflicted him, she had been willing to accept that these were nothing more than the products of a feverish imagination borne of the consequences of being nightsick. But if it wasn’t nightsickness, then what could it be?

The sombreness in his eyes spoke volumes. “Maybe…we’re just nightsick again.”

His half-hearted suggestion made her flinch, bringing back the well-trodden memory of struggling through the dark the first few days after she surfaced from a bottomless abyss where nothing but nightmares existed. But it felt different now; the turmoil borne out of a silent, unspoken fear of losing her mind was slowly receding in the wake of his earlier confession.

“I thought about that,” she said slowly, “and I don’t think I believe that any more than you probably do right now. These images couldn’t have just been the outcome of an active imagination. Somehow they must be rooted in conscious awareness.”

“How do you know that?”

Her shoulders slumped as she admitted, “I don’t. Ironically, I hadn’t been sure of anything until now. But-” she stopped, then realised that she’d forgotten about something so important that she’d originally intended to take up with him when she’d first arrived. “Wait. I’ve got something.”

Thera reached for the pile of clothes, colouring slightly at the memories they evoked. She grabbed the trouser leg that stuck out of the pile, pulling at it until the entire garment came into view, then fished out a crumpled sheet of paper.

Wordlessly, she handed it to him.

Jonah took it, tracing the paper’s rough edges but made no move to unfold it. “You tore out the pages from a library book?”

She shrugged. “So it seems. But it’s important enough. Go on, look.”

oOo

Jonah stared at her, not knowing what surprised him more—that Thera Arann had some hidden streak of rebellion or that she’d justified an action so incongruous to the law-abiding, by-the-book person that he’d thought she was. Strangely enough, it was the reckless side of her – both in bed and in moments like these – that sent a dark thrill through him and he readily admitted that it was gratifying to see hidden aspects of her character that he’d suspected existed finally surface when situations called for actions that ran contrary the book.

Or maybe he simply just didn’t know her well enough.

Then he looked at her, catching the play of emotions across her face, wondering if it bothered her more than she let on. Shaking his head slightly, he unfolded the sheet of paper and saw its bold heading.

_Jonah Tuvall (Year 220 – 260), beloved friend and son._

The world as he knew tilted then righted itself again, all in the space of millisecond.

“Okay, that’s creepy.”

The silence stretched on until he finished reading. Then he folded the paper carefully and handed it back to her, falling back into the cushions, robbed of speech. Was there even an appropriate response to finding out that he shared the same name and a similar history with a man who had died in the recovery efforts in the first Korros crisis?

“Is that just a coincidence?” Her soft question gave her the opening he needed.

He shook his head tersely, then relaxed slightly when he felt her warm hand grab his. “You tell me.”

She gestured to the obituary, now carelessly tossed onto the floor. “What do you remember of your family?”

“Not much. I was born here, in 372. Parents, no siblings. They died…somehow, but I don’t remember them.” He gave her a troubled, sideways glance, the words in the obituary still burning in his head.

_Born in 220…military officer…braved the raging fires…a valiant comrade…a single man, fondly remembered._

More forcefully, he continued, “I grew up here, was recruited into the counter-insurgency forces as soon as I finished my education. Got injured in some run-ins with the rebels. It’s pretty damn similar to that dead guy’s history.”

“What else happened?”

“You know the rest. Then I fell sick. Nightsick,” he amended with heavy irony, “and they told me that I survived that ordeal but with chunks of my memory gone.”

And then life had to start all over again, he wanted to add but didn’t. Instead, he took in her face, allowing himself to savour the golden glints of her hair that caught the light streaming through the balcony.

“You?”

Her lips curved upwards in a small, wry smile. “I remember only as much as you do. I grew up here, but don’t remember the faces of my parents or siblings. I remember the streets, the school I attended, how I always excelled in science. I skipped classes, moved up levels, studied as hard as I could. Then the research institute took note of me. For some reason, I took a personal interest the Korros project, and told myself that I would find a way to make it work this time,” Thera said, then continued uncertainly, “What if it’s…all…something that we…”

“That we…?” He prompted.

“That we aren’t who we are?” She completed her sentence wearily. “Don’t you find it all too convenient to believe that we’ve had similar flashbacks and large parts of our lives we can’t remember, all of which are attributed to nightsickness?”

The silence that fell felt too much like the calm before a storm, bursting at the seams with unreleased tension, where bloated clouds waited to give way to a torrent that destroyed everything in its path.

Thera’s words hung heavy in the air and Jonah sighed, fighting the urge to retreat into the bliss that only ignorance could temporarily provide. This conversation was peeling back too many layers too quickly for his comfort and the hypothesis that she was giving simply articulated what he hadn’t been too willing to coherently piece together just yet.

Because, if they weren’t Jonah Tuvall and Thera Arann, then who were they?

If he were completely honest with himself, the truth was that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know just yet, after barely surviving the emotional upheaval strapped down in an infirmary cot for weeks or months on end.

Because the answers, he realised grimly, had the potential to throw everything back into turmoil, not least of all, the newfound intimacy with Thera. And that, wasn’t something he knew was a non-negotiable factor.

Yet they owed themselves that much.

“It’s all too easy isn’t it?” He finally asked, seeing her nod mutely in agreement.

“I need to figure this out, Jonah. I can’t live with myself otherwise.”

He took a deep breath, acknowledging the simple truth of her statement. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”


	16. Straining to Know

The walls were cool to the touch, despite the robust heating that roared through this endless maze of corridors. Stepping backwards, Daniel took in the topography of the place, noting the roughness of the surfaces and the crude tunnelling that went right through a solid stratum of rock. He peered briefly into the unlit tunnel, then wondered about the merits of following this particular trail. Nearly a week later after being found—or caught—by the PPA, he felt like he wasn’t any closer to discovering the actual size of this massive underground hideout.

“It is wiser to follow the original plan, Daniel Jackson.” Teal’c soft bass bounced off the enclosed spaces.

Daniel grimaced, knowing that the Jaffa had anticipated his unspoken question.

“Yeah. No point in getting more lost than we already are.”

“On the contrary, I am entirely cognizant of our location.”

Daniel figured that he shouldn’t have been surprised at Teal’c dignified retort. But the years had bred familiarity in a way that made him forget the Jaffa by his side had lived three lifetimes over in service to a false god that he had only recently renounced.

“Right.”

Blinking as his hands found the telltale horizontal planes of a ledge just above his head, Daniel shifted and saw that what looked like an alcove actually widened out onto another mezzanine level. Testing its weight and finding it steady enough for both him and Teal’c, he lifted himself into the alcove, rolled and extended a hand to Teal’c. The Jaffa took his outstretched hand and levered himself up more nimbly than his bulk should have allowed.

The overwhelming air of secrecy shrouding the place was making him uneasy.

There was no one about, which clearly worked to their advantage. They’d stumbled all too often into places they weren’t supposed to be and were treated with threatening, unfriendly looks enough to get them to back off.

The cool indifference he could deal with; being here and shown the bare minimum of hospitality was more than welcome after a prolonged stay in the mines as slaves.

Still, the conditioning of the mines lingered like an unwelcome spectre, despite the return of his memories and his identity. He felt as though two personalities inhabited a physical body, and more often than not, had to shove away the uncomfortable thought that Carlin could have simply been a manifestation of a part of his subconscious—the repressed, violent ego—that years of academia had somehow leashed.

How Teal’c had maintained a consistent, unruffled air of equanimity was beyond him. But then, he supposed, the hundred or so years that separated them did always made a difference.

Daniel moved forward cautiously, instinctively inching towards the source of light that lay fifteen feet down the corridor. From where he stood, the corridor had split off into smaller passages carved even deeper into the frozen rock.

“I think—”

The whisper was torn from his throat when a large hand slammed into his chest and pushed him back into the shadows, effectively cutting off what he was about to say.

Daniel winced, feeling the sharp edges of the jagged rock poke hard into his back. He regained his breath and his bearings and saw Teal’c warning tilt of the head, instinctively shifting his eyes in the direction of the tilt.

Then he heard something: the minute sounds of human activity in the distance, eventually diminishing as the people scattered into the smaller corridors in the distance.

The pressure lifted off his chest and he winced, rubbing that Teal’c-sized bruise.

This time as Teal’c took point, slowly stepping across the uneven ground, past the minor passageways until the corridor eventually narrowed considerably and twisted left.

The chamber into which the passageway opened was small but brightly illuminated. Three distinct sources of artificial light emitted a soft whirr from the low ceiling, strategically positioned so that they brought into focus the surface of a wide table mostly covered by a stack of folders, maps and books.

“Whoa.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

Daniel crossed the space quickly, carefully lifting the first folder off the pile not before noting its original placement. This was what he did best—being nosy…and discovering unnamed treasures and threats in the process by accident.

“It would be prudent to hurry.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied distractedly, already swiping the pages with impatient fingers.

“I will stand watch.”

“Uh, thanks, Teal’c.”

Contour lines depicting the changes of elevation of an area stopped Daniel mid-flip. Thick blue marks highlighted parts of the thin, yellowed page, blanking out the weaker, faded lines that lay in the centre of the parchment.

A relief map, he thought, trying to comprehend the alien information.

But of what? This underground hideout? Or the city? Of the planet? Before or after its destruction?

He needed context. Graphs, charts, diary entries, books…just about anything that he could use as a starting anchor.

Too much to look through, too little time.

Quickly, Daniel put down the folder, careful in placing it back in its original position, then picked up the second grey one, seeing the meticulously ground plans of a subterranean site too small to be this labyrinth.

The next few pages were perplexing. Why would a research article on a highly-volatile compound be wedged between the ground plans and the scattered maps? Unless, they were planning to—

It came to him in a snap.

“It’s a plan of attack,” he murmured to himself in shock. “Something big.”

The pieces were invariably coming together—the explosives, the maps and the PPA’s stinging hatred for the second Korros project—in a way that led to an inevitable conclusion. Daniel whipped around to face Teal’c, folder in hand, impatience and trepidation making his hands unsteady.

“They’re planning something big and it’s something to do with the Korros project.”

“I do not follow you.”

“It all fits the modus operandi of the PPA, don’t you think? Unrelenting waves of attacks, no matter what, to destroy what they can of the second project’s progress. Whenever they can. For this coming one,” he argued at a rapid clip, ignoring Teal’c’s raised eyebrow, “we finally have an opportunity to actually get somewhere. Make use of the distraction, volunteer, whatever.”

“You are considering escape.”

The measured statement held no disapproval, no judgement, only careful neutrality, but it still gave him pause. “Shouldn’t we?”

“Indeed. However, I would urge caution, Daniel Jackson.”

“We must—”

Daniel left his sentence hanging, catching sight of the roughly cut ends of several newspaper clippings buried under that same stack of folders. He pulled them out immediately none too gently in growing excitement, frowning slightly at the headlines.

“Have you found something, Daniel Jackson?”

“Yeah. Newspaper clippings of…” he trailed off, “what looks like the first Korros project and…the second one. They’re archival material, Teal’c. Kept over a period of decades. The ones on top are more recent. They seem to be reporting a partial-scale test that will help prove Korros’s ability to sustain energy output in a location that’s beyond the city.”

The slight interest on Teal’c’s face morphed suddenly into deadly intent.

“You must hurry, Daniel Jackson.”

The warning was untimely, Daniel thought in frustration. There was so much to read, so many pieces to put together. He shuffled quickly through the first few articles, scanning the media releases until he came to a much longer, in-depth report of the science team behind this project and its capable leader.

_Thera Arann._

Curiously, Daniel turned the page over and froze when he caught sight of the large, monochrome image of an unmistakable side profile printed in the centre. He stared uncomprehendingly at it for a moment, until dawning awareness raised the gooseflesh on his skin.

“Gods of Abydos,” he breathed. “Teal’c!”

The Jaffa was immediately at his side, frowning as Daniel handed the report to him with shaking hands.

“It’s Sam.”

Teal’c looked as shaken by the revelation as he was, a feat that few things ever managed to achieve. “It is indeed Major Carter.”

“The Korros project,” Daniel muttered, hurriedly scanning through as many articles of her he could find, “I should have known.”

It was starting to make sense now. That Sam had been placed squarely in the middle of the city’s environmental crisis and told to solve a major problem was a shrewd move by the Administration, ensuring that her scientific and engineering brilliance wouldn’t be put to waste in the mines.

Nothing in the news reports suggested she was a prisoner; in fact, she looked to be a popular, famous scientist whose single-mindedness in the Korros development work had brought the project to where it was today. But had she been willingly brought into the project? Or had she been—?

“You must consider the possibility that she has been mindstamped as we have been.”

Daniel sighed, deflated by Teal’c practical conclusion.

“So she will not remember who she is, let alone recognise us. I thought that she could have been coerced into the project.”

Sam was alive, at least. But what about Jack? What had they been doing? Then a stomach-churning thought occurred to him, sending his heart straight to his knees and his words tumbling out a mile a minute.

“Teal’c, the PPA are planning to destroy this project. The partial-scale test is probably their next big target and if this hit succeeds, sh-”

“Daniel Jackson.”

Teal’c’s warning came too late as the hollow sounds of footsteps stopped at the chamber’s threshold.

Meslar Tving was leaning against the frame of the doorway, sizing them up with knowing eyes.

“I should have known that you two meant trouble.”

oOo

The secondary entrance to the holding room of the core computing systems was ringed by a few guards and a dozen criss-crossing security beam alarms. With his peripheral vision, Jonah studied their faces carefully, seeing boredom and just enough complacency there to make his task slightly easier.

He turned back and saw Thera’s attention still locked on a complicated network of wires, crystals and slots as she worked to temporarily disable the security systems.

So far so good, Jonah thought grimly.

Somehow, he knew he could trust her with this, despite some of the misgivings he had about this whole operation when she’d talked him into accessing the entrance to the Administration’s computing systems with his security access card.

The premise has been simple.

They needed to know who they were, a fundamental driving point that they’d both agreed upon in their serious talks in between their fast and furious couplings.

But could it be as simple as that? Even then, there was apprehension mixed with eagerness, laced with a measure of panic.

Subterfuge was a regular part of his work. This particular, creative workaround however, wasn’t.

Jonah readily admitted that his own burning curiosity had matched hers, that the fragmented visions—seemingly warning about the onset of a split personality—was distracting, worrying and unsettling. But whatever lay in the archival logs and the registrar lists wasn’t exactly something for which he’d readily stand first in line, for reasons that he tried to convince himself were unfounded.

Quietly, he watched while Thera worked, until she looked up and gave him a slight nod to indicate that she was ready. Pushing the last lever into place, she got up and wordlessly held out the reconfigured identity chip up to him for inspection.

Jonah nodded once and inhaled slowly.

Good. Time for a show.

“Ready?” He murmured.

“No. Actually, I’m not.”

Her honest response made him grin. He understood her apprehension. Wondered too, at some level, if this was some kind of move so daring that if they were to succeed, everything between them would change and how he was both mentally and emotionally unprepared for it.

“Let’s go.”

They closed the door the small, electrical vault and strode confidently up three storeys, rounding the corner with their calibrated identity chips already in hand. A quick swipe was all that it took for the security beams to disappear just as the heavy glass doors slid open, revealing a snaking corridor that led straight to the engineering and computing cores.

Thera nodded once at the guards with practiced indifference as she walked through, then heaved a small sigh of relief when the doors closed behind them.

“What did you do?” He asked in a hushed voice, impressed. It wasn’t everyday that people easily slipped past the technology that helped fortify the security networks. The fact that she made it through more easily than he thought she would spoke volumes about an ability that went beyond just science.

Relief and enthusiasm coloured her reply. “I recalibrated the access codes that was embedded in your own identity chip, then cloning it so that two distinct but fictional identities could be created in the systems, then later discarded with no visible trail the moment we leave this building. Luckily for us, the existing security loopholes allowed me to make minor but significant modifications to the algorithms so that they would match the—”

“Okay, I get it,” Jonah interrupted in mock-exasperation. “You did…” he gestured and pointed at an imaginary spot, “…it. You did it.”

Thera swallowed a chuckle. “You did ask.”

He rolled his eyes, already regretting that he did. Stepping closer, he brushed a light finger over the curve of her cheek as he looked searchingly at her. “You’re amazing, you know?”

She coloured at the compliment, smiling slightly only in response as words died in her throat. “I-”

But that fleeting moment was already gone, fading into the quiet darkness that held more secrets that they could ever hope to plumb. When he spoke again, his words were measured and commanding.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

Like it was second nature, she fell into step next to him. They picked up the pace, hurrying down the length of the corridor that eventually opened up into another automated checkpoint that guarded the inner sanctum of the top engineers in the city.

“I just need five minutes.”

Jonah nodded his assent, stationing himself where he could get the best vantage point of both sides of the corridor as she bent over the large console, her fingers already flying over the keys.

The way was clear, the silence unnerving.

Then he turned back, seeing her enter the final command on the keypads.

“Done.”

“Good. Time to try this thing out,” he replied, gently taking his own chip from her.

Another swipe of their chips and they were through.

The lighting gradually turned dimmer as they approached the main part of the complex, automatically slowing their strides as the corridor narrowed out and ended at the edge of a huge, hollowed out cylindrical shaft that extended many storeys, lit by a strange combination of fluorescent and cool blue glows.

Jonah blew out a low, appreciative whistle. “This is something.”

“Impressive,” she agreed, taking a moment to study the complex’s architecture and elaborate interior. “From what I managed to get out of the schematics, the official registry of all persons living and dead are a storey above us. But there’s not going to be much time. The shifts of the personnel are irregular.”

He shot her a laconic smile, then turned to her, giving into the impulse to brush a blond strand of hair off her forehead. “Lead the way. I’ll watch your six.”

She grinned and took off, bringing them through a maze of consoles, relying solely on her memory of the two-dimensional plan, past the long line of blinking holographic screens and straight into a carefully concealed exit.

Almost there.

Thera glanced behind her, seeing him staying a comfortable distance behind so that she could take the lead comfortably. Then she lengthened her strides and broke out into a run, dragging air into her lungs, relishing the adrenaline rush that was pushing her into territory that felt more familiar and more thrilling than it should for someone who confined her life to a laboratory.

Rounding the obstacles, she slammed through the threshold of the exit doors and took the stairs, hitting the top deck just as Jonah caught up. As silently as she could, she opened the door and peeked out, gratified to see the lack of human traffic in the vicinity.

A wisp of a disembodied voice made its way into her ears, whispering a long-repressed memory that caused her to stumble.

_This is fun to me, Sir._

The unexpectedness of that sentence made her steps falter, the sudden loss of momentum causing Jonah to nearly run her down.

“Hey.”

Thera whipped around, staring hard at him as she fought to bring back that very piece of memory that hovered at the edge of her mind.

It lay frustratingly out of reach. But at that moment, it had seemed near enough that she could have reached over and plucked it out of the impenetrable fence behind which it hid and—

The grip on her shoulders tightened. “You okay?”

She blinked at his concerned face, taking a deep breath to clear her mind. “I just had a…flashback.”

He nodded grimly, then gestured to the consoles. “We’ll have to deal with that later. But now-”

“Now,” she continued determinedly, “we find out exactly who we are.”


	17. Crumbling Foundations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is sorry for the long wait. These months have been, well, hard and that's putting things lightly. I hadn't the headspace for this at all.

Thera’s fingers faltered the slightest bit over the controls of the holographic screens that locked away the registry of identities. Then she inhaled deeply, stretching her hand straight into their luminescent green glow as a purple band of light shot out from a small point in the machines to encircle her fingers.

_Identity corroborated. Welcome, Kaile Teyvet._

The bold letters scrolled across the screen and immediately, the green glow morphed into a neutral white, the frames of the search function blinking invitingly at her.

She grinned slightly at Jonah’s confused look. “My alter ego.”

“Dare I ask what you’ve named mine?” He asked dryly.

“Probably not,” she told him cheekily, grateful for the small banter that helped relieve the growing tension of the moment. If the discovery that lay before them was going to change everything, she wanted this blissful, ephemeral moment to last, burned into her memory banks as a time when they knew no better.

The ghost of a smile crossed his rugged features. “Damn. I would have preferred…Hom...-” he tripped over the word’s first syllable before forcing the foreign name out. “Homer.”

“Homer?” The name sounded…odd.

He shrugged, mouthing the name again. “Beats me. Somehow it brings to mind a bald man with a paunch.”

Thera swallowed a giggle, only to realise that what he said made some sense in a twisted way. Frowning, she raced through snapshots of her childhood and of the early years of her working life in the city, probing for the distinct image of a man with no hair, who stood before a glimmering blue puddle before it winked out of existence-

Then it seemed as though everything fell through her clutches, the fragments of memories crumbling under the sheer force of an unmovable mental block that stood stubbornly despite its crumbling foundations. Thera blinked, clearing her mind of unwanted intrusions, jerking her gaze upwards when she heard her name called out in a tentative voice. She met his brown eyes and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look, then turned resolutely to the waiting screen.

“Here goes,” she muttered, typing in the command that would pull his name from the records.

Two entries blinked their presence a millisecond later. Without hesitation, Thera accessed the first file, feeling her heart pound loudly in her ears.

_Born: 220, Jonah Tuvall, military officer, search and rescue. Administrative number 120-335-1._

_Death: 260, Fallen in service_

_*details_

Hadn’t Jonah mentioned that he was born in the year 372 after reconstruction? Thera frowned, noting that this profile matched the man whose obituary she’d seen. She snapped the entry closed, then pulled open the second one, never more acutely aware of Jonah’s intent gaze at the screen from just behind her shoulder.

_Born: 372, Jonah Tuvall, team leader, counter-insurgency forces. Administrative number 332-449-2._

_Death: -_

_*details_

Thera read through the brief information thrice, feeling as though she was missing something. This was the Jonah she knew, but there had to be something that connected these two persons – or had she simply been imagining everything? “There must be more,” she murmured.

A sudden, heavy hand on her shoulder made her jump slightly. “Wait. Bring up the previous entry. We need the details. ”

Jonah was already pointing at the screen. Biting her lower lip, she closed his file and opened the previous one, this time delving straight into the dead man’s profile.

They read in taut silence that was unbroken save for the slight hitch in Jonah’s breathing. Thera turned around, seeing him grow as taut as a bowstring as he pursed his lips together into a bloodless, straight line across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and dangerous.

“This profile is exactly like mine. This could have been my life.” The implications of his observation were left unspoken.

Numbly, she stared at the detailed biography of the Jonah Tuvall who lived and died over a hundred years ago, leaving a legacy of a decorated stellar career that could have been an easy parallel of the Jonah standing next to her. The incongruity of his convenient loss of memories, the period of nightsickness…all of which were loose threads that were suddenly unravelling in a way that she had been dreading all along.

The similarities couldn’t be a coincidence; that much Thera was convinced of. The question was, why? Why had the Jonah she knew been constructed out of a dead man’s identity and experiences? Had the period of nightsickness been so utterly debilitating that therapy had been a series of drastic measures needed to fill an empty shell? But even that sounded like a naïve scrabble on her part – a way of explaining the inexplicable because no other explanation seemed satisfactory enough.

So, who really, was Jonah Tuvall? Or Thera Arann, for that matter?

“Pull up my medical records.” The hardness in his voice and the flint in his eyes left no room for argument.

Thera did as he commanded, fumbling over the access algorithms that allowed her into the confidential files that could only be accessed by Calder and the directors of the medical facilities. Excruciatingly aware of his stoic form next to hers, she unconsciously clenched her fists as his records loaded in three-dimensional space. Then she searched out her own, arranging the frames so that her shorter, more compact record lay next to his.

“Is that-” he started out in confusion, only to see her nod in acknowledgement of his unfinished query.

“Mine,” she told him firmly. “A comparison might be helpful, especially if we’re both suffering the same symptoms.”

Thera turned back to the screen, peering closely at the alphanumeric segments that detailed his injuries, frowning at the obscure classification system that headed each frame. Experimentally, she tugged at the rectangular box in front of her, watching as it collapsed, turned on itself and expanded into paragraphs of detailed medical jargon associated with nightsickness that she barely recognised.

“All it says here is that we’ve been treated for nightsickness,” Jonah cut in softly, feeling her anxiety roll off her in near-tangible waves. It was making him twitchy as hell and more unsettled than he’d felt in a long time.

But Thera was already shaking her head, her brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on the meaning that lay behind the medical terminology. “Actually, it’s more than that. There are finer details of the procedures here that I’ve never seen before, considering that this is information that has been made available only to a select few in the Administration. It says we had undergone…regulatory therapy – therapy that involves severing and rewiring of our neurological processes segment by segment. And if I’m reading this right, this followed by the repetitive implantation of altered histories through intrusive mental imaging over a period of many cycles until our cognitive selves stabilised. Occasionally, our original memories and histories tear holes in our remodelled minds, we’re treated again so that these ‘leaks’ could be plugged.” Her fists clenched reflexively and she swallowed hard, finally turning to look at him, her breath speeding up as the revelation sank in.

His face however, was unreadable, the tight lines in his face the only physical, outward indicators of his growing unease. “Why?” He asked harshly. “Because we were nightsick? And what the hell gave them that right?”

It all came back to that, Thera thought desperately. There had to be a reason for this, just as there was a reason for everything, because rational logic demanded it in a way that was familiar and comforting.

Had nightsickness been such a destructive force that the Administration had somehow seen a need to input new personalities and memories that hadn’t been theirs to begin with over their original selves? But what sort of cracks were they really plastering over?

The illness, its causes and its consequences had been shrouded in secrecy from the very beginning and she hadn’t thought to question any of it, an oversight that perhaps, was telling her all she needed to know after all.

A memory intruded, flinging her back to that very afternoon in the quiet hush of a library when she had unwittingly read about hallucination, memory stamps and altered histories without really knowing just how far she’s been entangled in it all.

_Prevalence of behavioural disorders…behavioural responses to visual stimuli...reality monitoring in hallucination-prone subjects…the salient issue of altering traumatic memories and its treatment implications._

As though a light switch had suddenly been flicked on, she felt several stray pieces lock into place, shock narrowing her world down to sensations, the edges of her vision feathering grey.

Behavioural disorders in trauma victims. Reconsolidation of memories.

In a flash, she understood. She had, in fact, been reading about the very process that she and Jonah had undergone that day in the library. What had begun as an experimentation in altering traumatic memories of the first Korros crisis had turned into something more sinister.

The partial answer had unceremoniously dropped into their laps, yet her tenuous hold on her constructed reality was slipping. Her palms had gone clammy, her breathing laboured. Dimly, as though as part of her watched herself from a distance, Thera wondered if she’d slipped into shock.

But what had the Administration to gain in spending the time and effort to rehabilitate the both of them…and why? The burning question stayed unspoken on her tongue. Slowly, she became aware of a heavy hand on her shoulder, its comforting weight grounding her.

“Thera. Focus. As hard as this is, we’ve got to do it.”

Jonah said her name gently, almost as though he was afraid that she would break, yet the note of authority and command had never left. Unconsciously, Thera straightened, numbly nodding her acknowledgement. No matter what, Jonah was still here, wasn’t he? Or was this merely an illusion as well? A fabrication of everything that was starting to turn on its head in an unstoppable motion that threatened to tear apart all that she’d come to learn in this incomplete life of hers? Swallowing her anxiety took more effort than she thought it would have and she wondered how he would react after he heard what she was going to say to him.

Taking a deep breath, she shoved the unwarranted concern aside, reminding herself that time and not sentiment, or anything else that would hinder what this covert operation of theirs, was the only thing that mattered.

“I spent an afternoon researching at the library…back then I didn’t even know what I was searching for and I came across several old journals that talked about the medical science behind tampering memories,” Thera began, then paused, gathering her thoughts. “At least, they seemed to involve disruptions or breakdowns of memory, consciousness or awareness for those who were emotionally damaged – perhaps irreparably – after fallout from the Korros disaster all those years ago. The journals obliquely suggested that several techniques of rehabilitation existed, aided by a number of drugs that will facilitate the process.”

After a few seconds of tense silence, he asked her shrewdly, “So somewhere along the line, this became nightsickness and its cure?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Whether nightsickness is as valid an illness as they claim it is, or simply an excuse for those who needed their memories and personalities erased for stamping, I’m not too clear. But isn’t the evidence leaning towards the latter?”

“Fuck.” Jonah sank into the seat next to her, rubbing an anxious hand across his forehead with a weariness that she understood. “So these visions or dreams-”

“-probably aren’t really visions at all. More like flashbacks of our former lives, our former selves that somehow resist the thorough reprogramming process.”

“And those months of-” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Not when all he could remember now was the pain, the humiliation and the struggle of trying to simply breathe on his own through the constant, invasive mental assaults just to relearning who he was. But even that had been nothing but an elaborately set-up deception, the consequences of which he knew he hadn’t yet fully come to terms with yet. Falling apart, however, wasn’t ever a luxury he would indulge in. Pride and the tight rein he’d always had on his self-control forbade it, demanding instead that he choked down whatever came his way and deal, no matter how much it screwed him up.

A quiet buzz made him snap his head upwards in time to see Thera’s fingers work the borders of a new frame in their records, the pounding of his heartbeat suddenly accelerating into a mad gallop. Frozen, he watched her pull slightly away from the console, her rigid stance the only indicator of her significant discovery.

“There are…two names.”

Her quiet voice barely cut through the muted roar in his ears. Unknowingly, Jonah took a breath, bracing himself for a physical blow, not daring to ask what these names were.

Who _they_ were.

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, now that he stood at the edge of the precipice of a cliff that dropped unexpectedly into the unknown. That they had come so far in this endeavour merely amplified the irony of it all. Uncovering his former identity was guaranteeing nothing apart from the additional burden of dealing with a separate identity that he’d come to think of his own in the intervening months. Had he naïvely expected it to be easy to step into the shoes of his former life and out of his present one, having not even thought of the actual ramifications and the consequences of doing so?

Life was…simple, despite the complications of work and of the political situation in Neithana. Meeting Thera had added spice to it. Was it too late to want to keep it that way? Or was this just inexplicable cowardice speaking?

“Thera-”

But it looked as though she hadn’t heard that murmur of protest, her eyes still hungrily trained on the images, scouring the words for anything that would throw them into the heart of the path of discovery that they’d begun to take weeks ago.

“I think I found it,” she interrupted softly.

Her shock spread like intangible ripples through space so forcefully that he latched onto it immediately, a knot settling in his gut.

“Colonel Jack O’Neill.” She turned to face him, the sudden pallor of her skin yellowed out further by the glow of the floating files. “And Major Samantha Carter.”

_What? Who the hell was Jack O’Neill?_

The names didn’t ring a bell.

Yet, there was that undeniable sense of… _rightness_ associated with it, grounding the fragmented images of his former life that had found their way into his consciousness all those months ago. He clutched his head in reflex at her revelation, feeling something tear open, as though the blinds had been yanked upwards to reveal a light so bright and piercing that all he could see was whiteness. Still, Jonah fought the tear, gritting his teeth as he willed the flood of memories at bay.

_Not now._

Not while their presence in the core systems facility was prone to detection. Whatever was happening to the both of them, this was not the time not the place, he reminded himself. Forcing his eyes open and his mind to clear, he saw Thera take a shaky breath, the sheen of sweat over her forehead accentuating the paleness in her cheeks.

“There’s time for this later. Right now, we should get out of here.”

Thera nodded her agreement, moving quickly to clear all traces of their digital presence, then stood up, feeling herself stumble as pain lanced through her head. A warm hand fell immediately on her shoulder, steadying her.

Jonah. _Or was it Jack?_

Lightly, she brushed off his hand, needing air and physical space away from the relentless, claustrophobic flow of mental images that crowded in. But there was wind whistling in her ears, a high-pitched scream that grew into the proportions worthy of a hurricane and pushed her straight to her knees clumsily when her legs buckled beneath her. Then the world tilted upright again as Jonah’s arms pulled her upwards, an immovable force that anchored her around her ribs. This time, she didn’t pull away, leaning on his strength that she instinctively knew was also faltering.

Yet, he still seemed to be faring better.

Thera inhaled deeply, trying to calm her irregular, unnatural breathing, pushing the pain and distraction to a side in order to focus only on movement meant to cover distance. A step at a time, a foot in front of the other, until her walk broke into a run that turned into a sprint across the storeys and the open spaces of the city.

It was easier said than done.

But still, their strides ate up the distance without her really knowing how, until she felt herself sink into the soft warmth of Jonah’s couch in his apartment like the familiar embrace of a friend, then felt the material give beside her as he fell into the seat beside her and leaned forward with both hands clapped firmly over his face.

Fisting her hands, Thera finally let go of the tenuous hold she’d kept of the dam of memories, letting the waves assemble themselves into a coherent narrative of the identity that had been repressed for months on end. They came together as a squeezing rush of tears, as the mad whirl of a thousand jigsaw pieces snapped into place with an asphyxiating speed that blanked her immediate surroundings into a dull grey. Riding the roiling tide helplessly, she let the bulk of memories sink in, then allowed the sheer joy and the pain of the most recent encounters of the man whom she’d only known as Jonah to overtake her.

The man who was also her commanding officer, with whom she’d had a relationship that was at best, complicated, unspoken and always simmering.

Had that all just been blown out of the water?

Blindly, she shot upwards and staggered blindly to the bathroom just as the bile rose in her throat, refusing to be contained any longer by the recent mental stress. Behind her, Jonah— _no, O’Neill_ —said nothing.

She slumped bonelessly onto the floor after her stomach out emptied itself, paralysed by the sudden weight of the memories as the personality of Samantha Carter fought to reassert itself over the cracking veneer that had once been Thera Arann.

Carter.

Her name was Sam Carter: astrophysicist, soldier, engineer, working for a highly classified mission deep underground.

_Samantha Carter, Major, USAF._

The syllables sounded foreign on her tongue, yet it was her, an entity that now seemed less real than Thera Arann’s life as a scientist in Neithana. As Thera, she had a life that made sense.

Sam Carter, for all of her achievements, had a life that hung in the balance in the front lines of a war forged among the stars. And _that_ was a timely reminder that she led a life that didn’t allow for anything else but focused dedication to keeping Earth secure from threats of the extra-terrestrial kind.

The bathroom door burst open and she heard his footsteps a second later as he lowered himself next to her. Wordlessly and tentatively, he reached out and hooked his arm around her shoulder. She stiffened, unsure and unable to handle his presence – both as Jonah or O’Neill – right now.

He didn’t let up, even if he must have sensed her tensing at his touch.

What little resistance she had dissolved into a fresh bout of tears that would have ordinarily embarrassed her.

Even after the tears dried, they stayed that way for a long time.


	18. Murky Waters

Meslar Tving hadn’t seemed angry, but Daniel knew better than to test the waters. How much had he really overheard?

“We were snooping,” he said mildly, and shrugged, gesturing to the papers. “It’s curiosity. Human nature. You know that the less you tell us, the more we actually want to know.”

“And so you now know. Curiosity, in such times, can only be dangerous,” Tving said. At his signal, two armed guards appeared behind him and he nodded once at them. “They have no place here.”

The last of Daniel’s cautious optimism faded into alarm. The mild placidness he aimed for hadn’t worked for Tving at all.

Time to change tact. Cut to the chase. The way Jack would do.

He spread his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “We’d like to help-”

_Shit._

The wrench in his arm socket and the sharp pain following it made things abundantly clear what they thought of his ruse. In the next second, hard, cold metal bands were snapping into place around his wrists.

But the pressure on him suddenly lifted and he whirled around in time to see Teal’c’s bulk sending the guards straight to the ground.

Tving’s eyebrows shot straight into his hairline and Daniel pounced on that moment of surprise.

Time to talk their way out, to make bargains when needed, to negotiate terms that they most likely had no intention of keeping.

Somewhere, the dishonesty of their actions pricked his conscience, but years of tough negotiations and witnessing the atrocities of what people were capable of made it easy to shrug off any kind of deception that would save their skins.

He rolled his shoulders, shaking the pain away before continuing.

“With someone like Teal’c on your side, you’d have a better chance of succeeding.”

Tving paused, assessing that statement. “Explain.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said we wanted to help,” Daniel repeated his original stance, grimacing as he tried to shift his arms into a more comfortable position.

At Tving’s sharp, warning look, he hurried on, hoping desperately that the alternative he was about to propose sounded sufficiently rational.

“Your plan however, won’t work. Blowing up the partial-scale test is well and good and it’ll even take your head scientists and leaders out of the equation, but have you considered that it could simply be controlled from a remote location? You’re trying to win this battle by stopping the process, not the source. Your actions may bring the Korros concept test to a halt, but it won’t solve any of your long-term problems.”

Suspicion cut deep lines in Tving’s face.

“What are you saying, Jackson?”

“I’m saying your plan might backfire,” Daniel said as he gave Teal’c a short, meaningful glance. “And that you might want to consider an alternative.”

Tving paused briefly. “I’ll bite, Jackson. Humour me.”

“Even for a partial-scale test, the Administration’s security forces are going to be everywhere,” Daniel began, gaining momentum as he tried to think quickly as he could. “The lead scientist you’ve targeted…Thera Arann? She may not even be on site when given the risk of this concept test. If your intention’s to incapacitate or kill, then you’re wasting your time.”

“So you propose that we save our efforts?”

The gleam of scepticism in Tving’s eyes wasn’t good.

“Blowing up the site will only delay the project, not permanently halt it, especially if it’s a remotely-controlled test. In short, your plan’s good but a short-sighted effort.”

A mocking smile curved Tving’s lips.

“So you consider yourself an expert on strategy?”

The way Daniel saw it, there was only one way out and even that seemed to be a gamble. But what choice was there?

_Interest. Keep Tving’s interest up._

“No,” he said briskly, praying that Tving would buy the bluff. “But I’m damn good at it. Your plan has a glaring gap that even outsiders like us can spot immediately. And if you ask me, I’d wait a little longer before inflicting proper damage.”

“Explain.”

Diversions, stealth and Plan Bs were the modus operandi of SG-1. When better to put those into use?

As far as Daniel could tell, he had this one hell of a chance to make it count. Sam’s life depended on the success of this move. This was risky as hell but he had at least bought himself slightly more time, then wondered if the half-assed plan—as Jack would have called it—would even make strategic sense when he spoke it aloud.

“Use the partial-scale test to your advantage. All the attention would be on this test and so would the Administration’s security officers, possibly leaving the research facility more vulnerable than it really is on this particular day,” he said, leaving Tving to grasp the implications of his plan.

But if destroying the Korros element was really the focus of the PPA’s mission, how much would they care about inflicting collateral damage? For all their sakes, he had to assume the worst and hope for the best, which wasn’t saying much at all. The PPA had long existed before he and Teal’c tried to muscle their way into their politics and all they were doing now were shooting straight into the dark, making every attempt to stir things up just to get their team together.

A husky feminine voice spoke from the doorway, interrupting the tense moment.

“He’s right, Meslar. It is an alternative we must consider.”

Backlit by the dim lighting, a small, slight figure crossed the threshold slowly, the angles of her face sharpened by the long, irregular shadows of the chamber. Behind her, guards had sealed off the doorway.

Tving’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the newcomer. “How much did you hear, Sor?”

A smirk crossed her lips.

“Enough to believe that Mr. Jackson’s plan would suit our purposes. Sometimes we forget that the environmental preservation is our first and foremost concern. ”

Daniel wisely kept silent. Despite the unexpected show of support he received from an unknown source, this looked to be a pending argument that he’d best stayed out of. As he was finding out, there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter anyway.

Tving made a sharp motion with a hand and he found himself cuffed and marched out of the chamber with Teal’c all the way back to their personal quarters.

That went…well, he supposed. As well as it could have gone under the circumstances.

He told Teal’c that much when they finally found themselves alone again, nursing their slight bruises from the guards’ manhandling.

To his surprise, it was barely an hour later when they were escorted back into the tiny chamber once again. The furniture had been rearranged, set up to accommodate an urgent meeting as folders and sketch plans were piled high on the table.

It did nothing to ease the uncomfortable sense of claustrophobia.

He had the distinct feeling of meeting a panel of hostile interviewers who were determined to make it difficult for him to get a coveted job. But from the varying degrees of unhappiness that showed up on their faces, he was willing to bet that his proposed alternative had been given more attention than he’d expected.

Tving pointed at a small bench that hadn’t been there previously.

“Sit.”

Daniel and Teal’c warily took their places as Tving shot a glance at the woman beside him. “This is Coran Sor, the champion of your proposal. Somehow the council agrees with her.”

Sor ignored the malcontent in Tving’s abrupt introduction.

“We have reached a compromise among ourselves, Mr. Jackson. As much as it pains us to admit, the PPA isn’t flawless. You did make a good suggestion,” she conceded. “An unusual one, yes, but one that is ultimately appropriate. The partial-scale test will be left as it is, so that the element of surprise will stay on our side. Resources will be need to be reallocated but the risks of sabotaging the main facility are considerably lessened if we do it your way.”

“But?” Daniel frowned and prompted, trying to whittle away the vagueness in Sor’s words into something more concrete, more comprehensible.

If Sor had noticed the sharpness in Daniel’s voice, she ignored it.

“Despite what you think of us, we differentiate ourselves from the Administration because we care. We care for the environment, or what is there left to save. And we also care for our people. As much as we want the Korros element destroyed, we’d rather do so with as little loss to human lives if we can help it.”

“So you’re going to infiltrate the main facility when everyone’s focusing on the partial-scale test, I assume,” Daniel surmised, his curiosity piqued. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“As you know we have a network of contacts operating throughout the city as well as in the research facility. They will help us to gain entry if we need it.”

Daniel met Sor’s steely gaze with his own. “I thought you were trying not to compromise people’s lives.”

Sor exchanged a weighty glance with Tving, which Daniel noted with growing suspicion. “Of course. We try our best.”

He wasn’t reassured. But he and Teal’c weren’t exactly in the best position to bargain, no matter how he tried. Stealing a small glance at the silent Jaffa, he saw the small crook of Teal’c eyebrow telling him that he wasn’t alone in his sentiments.

“So, what’s the catch?”

Tving’s smile wasn’t pleasant. “Your participation in this operation is not a request.” His gaze swung to Sor’s, the tough, calculating look back on his face. “We will speak further afterwards.”

Right, Daniel thought so.

It would have been naïve otherwise to assume that the PPA was all treehugger ethics, birdsong and the hippie-ness of the 1969 universe that they’d found themselves in a lifetime ago. There was no guarantee that the PPA would double cross them, or use them for their own purposes, their endgame so opaque that it was impossible to gain any clarity unless they belonged in the inner circles of this damn thing. In fact, the more Daniel thought about it, the more certain he felt of their precarious positions as insignificant pawns on a chessboard.

He nodded once, seeing the similar slight incline of Teal’c’s head. While it wasn’t exactly going to plan—SG-1 had always flown by the seat of their pants more embarrassingly than he cared to remember—he’d attached a certain fondness to Jack’s Plan B and all the letters that came after that.

Had even come to blindly trust his instincts to do whatever it took to get home, to do the job.

But perhaps Tving was offering them exactly what they needed on a platter.

Time to proceed with even more caution.

“What do you want us to do?”

Sor tapped her chin thoughtfully. “All it takes is the slightest form of contamination that would destabilise Korros.”

If they were waiting for Teal’c and him to take the hint, it wasn’t going to happen until Tving and Sor spelled it out for them.

“As we said, infiltrate the facility, plant explosives, then we’ll target the mines.”

What Daniel heard grated on him. He thought of Keagan and the countless, nameless others who were still paying for the crimes that they’d committed with hard labour. Lives that were already assumed forfeit in a meaningless struggle for one-upmanship between guerrilla forces and the current governing power they’ve deemed corrupt and unfit to rule.

“As I said before, the loss of innocent lives down there doesn’t bother you much it seems?”

“As I have also said before, we try our best to minimise fatalities,” Tving replied evenly. “It is an unpleasant task, but a necessary one. I assume you’ve heard of the term ‘collateral damage’? It ensures that Korros will never be used again.”

Frustration ate at Daniel.

Tving’s conviction was as admirable as a terrorist’s belief in the straight and narrow way to hell. It hadn’t taken much to understand the socio-political issues that plagued Neithana and the environmental cause that had been at the forefront of the political play for decades. The PPA protested, but offered no good solutions to renewable sources of energy in return, claiming destruction as their only way forward in their ferocious opposition to Calder’s bid for power using the newly-stabilised form of the element that had sunk the planet into a toxic ice-age.

Sor pulled out a datapad and projected its contents onto the blank wall behind them.

“The Korros trial run isn’t exactly an Administrative secret ever since the media started scrutinising Calder’s promises to switch energy sources and retire the degraded geothermal spots. Calder’s security would be keeping a tight watch on this concept test. They would expect us to strike there.”

“We will be working on a very tight timeline here. We fully expect the facility to run on a skeleton crew during the concept test. You will infiltrate to sabotage. Then set the explosives to detonate the moment they return after the test.”

Tving’s over-confidence bothered Daniel. “Unless you’ve stolen some uniforms or access cards, I highly doubt that your entry would go unnoticed.”

“Many, if you have already forgotten, are closet sympathisers with our cause. Calder’s zealotry for Korros, as many believe, has crossed the line into insanity.”

Sor made an impatient sound.

“Your transport leaves in two hours. You, Teal’c and several others will be armed with explosives and contaminants for the Korros shipments that the research facility has been receiving. Our comrade will meet you there. Destabilising the Korros will be her primary responsibility while the rest of you set the charges.”

“We will not wait any longer,” Tving reiterated.

It was instinct for Daniel to squeeze his eyes shut in consternation, second-nature to squint into the light sources in the cave.

“It is not without risks,” Sor cut in. “Unstabilised Korros reacts quickly and without warning. The facility can detonate while you set the charges.”

Daniel’s blood ran cold. So this was probably the equivalent of running into a hydrogen chamber with an open flame. And also the riskiest way of proving his and Teal’c’s loyalty, or at the very least, their neutrality.

“The destruction will be complete,” Tving cut in with a dangerous grin, “along with Calder’s fanciful ideas of renewable energy. Their research. The Korros. His complicit scientists.”

The glint in Tving’s eyes made Daniel wonder if the PPA leader had indeed sacrificed his common sense to the toxic atmosphere of this planet. But sanity, as the Goa’uld had amply demonstrated, was never a requirement when it came to extremism.

He cast a glance at Teal’c, drawing courage from the Jaffa’s unwavering stance in the corner of the room.

“All except for one,” Tving continued. “I want Thera Arann alive.”

The panicked swell of fear made Daniel’s heart pound in triple time.

oOo

T minus 5. The countdown to a momentous mission. Or a lift-off, a space shuttle launch.

The terminology came back easily now that Sam had pieced back the fragments of an identity lost not too far back in time.

In this case, the number of hours left until the Neithanan dignitaries arrived for their prime show viewing. She kept them in her peripheral vision as she made her slow way to the control lab, dodging most of the curious questions and the handshakes that came her way.

The ceremonious talk was annoying and uncomfortable on a typical day; today, she found it beyond intolerable.

Cold sweat started to bead on the skin below her hairline. Her guts were churning. Ignoring the fluttering pain only made the hollowed, emptied-out feeling even worse.

The data recorder in her hand shook as she tried to control the trembles with a steadying breath, thankful that there wasn’t anyone around to witness the latest episode of shivers and vertigo that, at its worst, rendered her unable to think or speak when memories burned white-hot in her head.

Panic, a fear of being closed off, claustrophobia, pains in the chest. The inability to think. Blankness, emptiness, the sudden blackouts that was surely spelled the end of combat-readiness.

Symptoms of post-traumatic stress, as they called it. A neat, all-encompassing term frequently used to tag broken military veterans who returned from combat situations but still lived through them as they began the difficult process of stepping back into civilian life.

Except that Sam was still conveniently knee-deep in this operation and not within the familiar walls of the SGC, still mired in this hellish double-life that she hadn’t chosen for herself. Fingers dug into her palm to tightly that it hurt, she stared blindly at the statistics that rolled through the recorder in her other hand, grappling for a modicum of control.

Was there even a correct term beyond schizophrenia for living two separate identities in one’s head for months and not knowing it? What about the crushing guilt of having violated a dozen rules that was worthy of a dishonourable discharge from the USAF?

That Carter—obsessed with playing by the rules, workaholic and rank conscious—had been eliminated when Thera Arann was created in her place.

Or so she thought. But if the memory stamps hadn’t succeeded in erasing the core of who they were, what then, explained the wavering bouts of defiance, grief and rage that cycled through her like clockwork? It was hard to admit that Thera Arann was as part of her now as she was Samantha Carter, an indelible stamp on her own personality and a strong imprint that could never be erasable. That this Sam Carter wouldn’t ever quite be the same Sam Carter who first walked through the gate to P3R-118 worried her to no end.

_Oh, for cryin’ out-_

Sam pursed her lips in a grimace, knowing that she was overthinking things again.

It had been for this very reason that she’d opted to cut her leave time and had gone straight back to work, heading to the underground testing site instead of the research facility out of Neithana in preparation for Calder’s proof of concept.

Away from _Jac_ -

Shit.

The _Colonel_. Or rather, the man who could only be ‘Sir’ to her.

Except that he was—and had been for a very long time—so very much more to her, even back before they were Thera and Jonah.

The silent awkwardness after the bathroom incident didn’t even begin to cover the cascade of emotions that she’d barely held at bay.

After agreeing that they would both keep this momentous discovery to themselves, she’d turned tail and fled. Back to the semblance of productivity and the jumble of equations that served as her only crutch in this _fucking_ mess of which they’ve become a part, where it was easier to work things out in her own head without giving a damn about what anything else.

But cowardice was an unfamiliar term in her personal dictionary. Fleeing from a near-mental breakdown was way easier than fleeing from a physical enemy that took pot shots at her six any day.

Barely able to deal with the emotional fallout and the bone-tiredness that came from a lack of sleep, her ability to focus was seriously compromised as the hours and days melded into each other in a dizzying jumble of statistics, equations and risk analyses.

She hadn’t heard from Jack since, though she’d half-expected him to come crashing through her lab to demand a plan B.

Perhaps it would be a lot less difficult than they thought to slip back into the holding pattern that they’d been slotted into for the past four or so years. Where they routinely sat around campfires off-world, digging into MREs with Daniel and Teal’c, exploring friendly and hostile worlds. Back where the complication and the anaesthetised comfort of rank would have been the only elephant in the room that they needed to look past. But even that was shaping up to be a fairy-tale now, held by a growing desperation to save a career and an identity that had been shaped by the military for as long as she could remember.

Sam wove her way toward the cluster of machines that determined power output, feeling the claustrophobia close in on her. Here, surrounded by the model buildings of the city, all she could remember was the last time they’d stood here, when he’d—

There was going to be a time where she and O’Neill would have to come up with some kind of plan for escape. That much was inevitable—a plan that was typically formed out of their asses, cobbled together using the spares from their pack, her technical know-how and his guns-above-all attitude with the unwavering pillars that were Teal’c and Daniel.

But just the thought of O’Neill right now was making her stomach bottom out, the mental disconnect still so strong that it threatened to knock her flat on her back.

Her jagged exhalations were the only hint of her shredded control.

As always, the default was to banish the memories to some place so deep that they only had free rein in her subconscious, a decision made consciously in the name of sacrifice for the greater good—all at the convenient price of the team. Of Jack, Daniel, Teal’c. And herself.

But hadn’t had she enough of her mind messed with already, after seeing first hand just how fucked up a person could become when they were made to take on a whole new identity and a boatload of memories that weren’t theirs?

Taking on the identities and the memories of some of Neithana’s dead people no less.

Suddenly, the thought of needing to keep the little that she and Jack had before all of this held appeal.

But the decision wasn’t only hers to make. There was the second half of SG-1 to consider, if she worked on the assumption that Daniel and Teal’c were still alive. Because the alternative was too painful—and too impossible—to entertain.

SG-1 needed to be together for this and she wouldn’t jeopardise this particular event just now, not when the only thing that was keeping her and Jack alive was Calder’s continued ignorance of their restored memories.

That was all she needed to work on right now: to keep her cover and finish this no small matter of the proof of concept for Calder and his cronies.

Easier said than done.

The Korros experiment ought to be her sole priority, but it was to Jack and SG-1 that her thoughts kept circling back, halted only by the groaning sound of the heavy, reinforced doors opening as she cleared the last retina security scan.

The whirring noises of the machines in the engineering section and the acrid scent of the inert Delftum salts engulfed her, a far cry from the relative quiet of the subterranean miniature city.

Moving into action was instinctive, the chaos of the lab and the shouting scientists dwarfing the tumultuous rumbles of her own inner conflict.

A quick perusal of the checklist on the large holographic screen nearest to her indicated that all systems were green and ready to go. On the next screen, Calder was still partway through his impassioned speech about energy conservation and the objectives of this proof of concept.

Keeping half her attention on Calder, Sam examined the data on her own datapad, syncing it once again with the computing core.

The core was at full operational capacity. Failsafes and shields holding, reactor waste already siphoning through channels so deep that they would be annihilated by the planet’s molten gases.

Her assistants had, in her short absence, stabilised the purified Korros with Geltum and fed the compound into the reactor core, the self-sustaining reaction having already produced sufficient energy to power the miniature city. From there, the engineers took over.

Her part was technically done.

All that power, at the Administrator’s fingertips, when he decided to issue the magician’s command to route the energy into this subterranean complex.

The datapad flashed red, then green, vibrating slightly in her hand.

The signal to begin.

Sam hadn’t known what quite to expect but when the signal finally came, she found it anti-climatic compared to the things she’d learned over the past week.

She watched with detached interest as the subterranean city lit up from quadrant to quadrant, like a sailor’s beacon. The congratulatory shouts and toasts from a corner of the control centre registered dimly.

When Calder finally walked in to offer his personal congratulations, she shook his hand and forced out a few polite words and praise for his foresight.

He hadn’t noticed that she’d been on edge throughout, a fact for which she was thankful.

The celebratory mood was apparently infectious, helping to lift the burden off her shoulders, even if proved a temporary distraction. Stripped of the adrenaline rush that had propelled her through the past few days, only the thought of a hot shower and a comfortable bed to take away the sudden bout of lethargy guided her motions.

Her leave of absence was technically over. Her colleagues were expecting her at the lab, a routine so tried and true of the very predictable Thera Arann that she didn’t intend to break to arouse any suspicions.

Then she thought again of Jack and the reminder that all they would have would be these broken, bittersweet memories nearly sent her to her knees again.

But what else was left for them otherwise, when they had nothing but the old, familiar ways to fall back on?

oOo

There was no hitch in the plan, nothing in Jack’s gut that told him that things were amiss, except for a gut-wrenching hollowness that had only grown deeper over the past week.

It was hell, knowing Carter was on site, a click or more underground, working that proof of concept test.

Which was successful, from the looks of it, as his own data pad softly chirped out the live reports that were just filtering in through the main news station.

There wasn’t any doubt that Thera— _Carter_ , he corrected himself hastily—did what many had failed to do in her wake. Where the constraints of science and technology had limited her own research and capabilities on Earth, the differing limitations and advances here had expanded the range of her intellect, proving only what he knew: that Carter would excel spectacularly wherever she went.

In many ways, Neithana had both freed and shackled them.

But he missed Samantha Carter, plain and simple, if he were to put aside everything, even if they’d shared more together as Thera and Jonah, an unlikely pair who had explored their attraction to one another on their own terms. He missed her in the field, her capability to always keep his six secure and her unfailing loyalty. Then he thought of the regs and found that he mourned who she was as Thera as well and the unusual colouring they did outside the lines, so far out of the black and white lives they’d lived on a distant planet called Earth.

Cuinn’s voice came through on a burst of static, pulling him out of the maudlin thoughts that hadn’t even been induced by alcohol.

“Cuinn to Silver. Perimeter clear. Facility secured and holding.”

“Copy. Silver out.”

It was instinct to give the outer perimeter another sweep, to tighten his grip on the weapon holstered at his hip. But it was also instinct—or was it only _memory_?— to answer to the code name Silver, living implanted memories using the muscle memory that the military had trained into him to do what he needed to do.

Living this fractured life however, wasn’t doing him any favours as he fought to focus on his official duties while beating back the constant outpouring of memories that he’d been futilely trying to compartmentalise.

Thankfully, his team hadn’t said a word about his mood. As much as he appreciated and liked those guys, they weren’t SG-1. But they’d also put their lives on line for him and he for them and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t good men who deserved more from him.

By the time the dignitaries cleared out and the security clean out done, his hands were shaky with emotions he hadn’t managed to ignore. As soon as the last pair of booted feet headed for the exit, Jack strode to the last transport back to the entertainment quarter and from there, made his way back to his apartment complex.

He needed coffee. Needed the blast of caffeine that would help settle his frayed nerves. Or maybe what he needed was a damn good six hours of oblivion in that place where he and Carter last—

The short, high-pitched whine of the identity scan was the only warning he got that his apartment’s security had been breached.

The door clicked open softly and he tensed, raised his weapon and froze, unable to believe what— _whom_ —he saw.

Carter, in day-old scientist robes, sitting on his couch.

She stood immediately when she saw him, like the damned soldier she was coming to attention in the presence of a commanding officer.

“Sir.”

He held up a hand, and she stopped on command…and damn if that didn’t slay him.

Fascinating as it was to see just how deeply-ingrained habits were making a comeback, quickly filling in the fractured cracks that finally broken through months of mental conditioning, it was that dull throb of pain that resurfaced, reminding him what he couldn’t have.

_Sir._ That damn word that would ultimately break their backs.

“Not that, Carter. Never that. If there’s ever a good time to drop the formalities, I’d say it’s now.”

It took an instance before understanding dawned on her face. And he knew as much as Carter did, that their escape from Neithana hinged on their abilities in playing their assigned roles as convincingly as they could, even as they fought the seemingly insurmountable, psychological effects of the unravelling mindstamps.

To treat the persona of Jonah Tuvall as merely a cover was doable, wasn’t it? Before that thought had fully formed, Jack knew that the answer to it was a definitive ‘no’. Maintaining that distance from the person he’d lived as for months seemed like deception of the highest order, despite that false life that had been imprinted on him.

He’d lived a part of it, fought for it and to cast it away simply because he was Jack O’Neill hadn’t made that life less real. And for that time, Jonah had Thera, which made that reality more precious than it should have been.

Doc Frasier would have a field day with them when they returned, be it days or weeks or even months later.

_If_ they returned.

“Yes, Sir.”

The amused glint of insubordination and the small smirk on her face convinced him that they were sort of back. That the fragile threads of their partnership hadn’t frayed and dissolved despite all that had happened between them.

Jack suppressed a chuckle. Some things didn’t change, but having seen another side of Carter— as the antagonistic, stubborn, prickly Thera Arann—he knew that wanted that part of her too.

Without giving her warning, he moved into her personal space, tilting her chin upwards, not even bothering to ask how she stole made her way inside, past the security scans.

“Not that I know very much what’s going to happen, but I’m glad you came.”

She exhaled shakily and broke away. “I wasn’t intending to.”

The distance—both emotional and physical—that she was placing between them cut to the bone.

“This isn’t over yet, Carter.”

“I don’t know if this will be over in a long while.”

They were speaking in circles again, in phrases that deliberately obscured meaning and shielded emotion and he didn’t like it one bit. At least as Jonah, he’d been free to say the things he wanted to say when he needed to say them.

“We’ll find a way.”

“Will we?”

“If you want to,” he vowed, and pushed on to say the words that took him to the limits of his courage. “I’m going to wave my retirement letter in Hammond’s face the moment we step through the gate.”

All he saw was sheer, unadulterated panic.

“Don’t. Please.”

“You do know we’re in too deep here, right? Something needs to give, Sam,” he told her quietly as he walked to stand at his favourite spot in the room, where the holographic illusion of nature and the outdoors changed according to the seasons of the old Neithana. Right now, the leaves were red and brown, the ambient temperature dry and cool, mimicking the gentle Neithanan autumns of centuries past. “And I’m willing to be the thing that does.”

“What if I’m not?”

Then it was game over, he thought.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked instead, bracing his hands on the panel, barely able to glance at the balcony where they’d pretty much slid past the point of no return. “Think about it carefully, Carter. Things were different when we weren’t mindstamped but now-”

“I don’t even know if we’d be granted levity for this breach in duty. Court martial, dishonourable discharges, despite the extenuating circumstances beyond our control-”

“Carter, stop.”

She was talking over him, her desperation to redraw those boundaries between them carving a hole in his gut. She wanted those walls back while he wanted them down and shot to pieces.

His exhale was loud in the sudden quiet.

“What exactly are you saying, Sam?”

“I’m just saying that I can’t…see a way for us to go forward.”

He flinched, and even if that cut deep, he hated how diminished she looked, how defeat was written into the tight lines around her eyes and mouth. But there was a hysterical panicked edge in her voice he hadn’t noticed until now and just knew she was hitting breaking point.

“Carter, calm down. Just…just take a minute here.”

Her laugh was forcefully sardonic as she pushed her hair out of her eyes wearily.

“I’ve done nothing but spent hours thinking. Going through permutations of the outcomes while working the Korros project, thinking of you, Daniel and Teal’c, going back to the SGC. I can only imagine the worst right now.”

“Yeah, me too, Carter,” he told her finally.

It was all he’d done—in fact, it was all that he _could_ do as the nights went by and wave after wave of memories threatened to pull apart the constructed existence of Jonah Tuvall until nothing of this false persona remained.

He couldn’t forgive and forget, but neither did he want to confine Jonah to a classified report that reduced this time as a blip in his own career.

A tentative hand came up on his back and he felt the wash of her breath and the burn over his skin as surely as he knew it was a goodbye from her.

“And the best and only conclusion I can come to is that we all need some structure back in our lives. It might be the only thing that would help us heal. And maybe…maybe when enough time has passed, we’ll be able to, you know, talk about it again.”

But they wouldn’t by default, even though this whole mindstamp, disappearing business was monumentally life-altering to change things between them. The tried and tested modus operandi was to shut up, bottle it up, talk uncomfortably around it if the occasion called for it…and move on to the next mission until something else screwed up that equilibrium.

Even that fine edge on which they’d always teetered didn’t look like it existed anymore, even if Carter was trying her best to resurrect it.

“Carter-”

“Sir-”

Jack had never associated Carter with fragility, but at this very moment, strung tight with a tangle of emotions he could barely understand himself, she looked _shattered_ , sorely in need of familiarity in a world gone to hell.

Maybe he did too.

Stuck halfway between denial and acceptance, unable to let go of Jonah Tuvall just as he was unable to fully inhabit the mantle of Colonel Jack O’Neill, SG-1 CO, that he’d worn for the past few years, Jack knew that he wasn’t too far behind Carter’s personal meltdown.

“You know my name, Sam.”

She averted her eyes, bit her lip.

“I…can’t.”

He understood what she’d left unsaid.

Even empathised with her, because he felt unhinged and off-centre, held together only by the impossible idea that Thera and Jonah had found their way to each other in spite of the odds planted against them when O’Neill and Carter couldn’t. They might have detonated the physical barriers between them, but everything else stood in the way.

He just wished that Carter had said something else other than the familiarity of structure and rank. Something that went some way at least, to give the both of them some kind of hope.

Turning his mind to what was necessary, rather than what was indulgent, was nevertheless, a goddamn pain in the _mikta_.

Jack heaved a heavy sigh.

“I get it, Carter.”

She nodded without meeting his eyes.


	19. Planning Stages

Daniel had long lost all sense of time and place.

Without knowing the hours of the solar or lunar cycle, he could only judge by the burn in his eyes and the pain in his sore limbs, that they’d been on the constant move for the past day or so.

The journey to the research facility was interminably long and unbearably cold, consisting of several hikes through disused and partially collapsed tunnels broken only by short brief interludes on the PPA’s transport over the desolate ice caps before they went underground again.

Accompanied by burly types who didn’t trust their maps and computer readouts with him or Teal’c, they were flying blind, under the leadership of a menacing-looking guy called Kren.

Daniel figured that they were simply extras to the hired muscles who were not only tasked with setting the explosives, but also keeping an eye out for the escapees who most likely had an agenda of their own. Which was true, although the PPA couldn’t have possibly guessed the extent to what he and Teal’c had planned.

He envied the state of peace Teal’c found in Kel’no’reem. Adrenaline still coursed through his body at the thought of what they were going to do in the facility, coating his muscles with a false sheen of rippling energy that made rest impossible. The PPA operatives had chosen to close off part of the tunnel for this short rest period and he’d found himself pacing while Teal’c sat unobtrusively to one side.

Not far now.

It took constant reminders to himself to focus. Swayed by fatigue, it was the horrifying thought of Sam in the hands of Tving and the PPA that kept him going. And Jack, wherever he was, if he wasn’t lost to nightsickness too.

The explosives resembling grenades were in his hands by the time the tunnels narrowed and wound left. Still they ran, bending forward then the space constricted to allow only a single file of people through.

Five minutes perhaps.

But Daniel had never had a sense of time as refined as Teal’c, Sam or Jack.

He pushed on, kept his legs going, automatically counting the steps until the metallic groan of iron gates opening brought him to a halt. The sudden scorch of heat from whatever was ahead temporarily warded away the chill and the dank smell of the mildew.

“Hurry up, Jackson!”

Kren’s terseness was grating on his patience.

Burrowing lower, Daniel quickened his footsteps and ran past the gates before it opened fully, stumbling twice in his haste to do so. Almost immediately, the gate started to roll closed behind him, the screech of metal against concrete loud in the unnatural quiet of the tunnels. By the time he’d steadied himself, sweat was pouring down his neck in rivulets despite the temperature and the heightened awareness had the frantic pounding of his heart echoing in his ears.

The smallest details registered.

Auburn hair shielding a face he couldn’t see even in the dimness. Blue-green tunic. Small hands. Tall, willowy.

Feminine.

The PPA’s mole in the facility.

It hardly mattered.

A strangely old-fashioned locking mechanism clicked into place again, a discordant feature of a facility that had to be at the frontier of the planet’s technological progress.

He’d seen the blueprints, but he didn’t remember this. Was the facility built over old, existing bunkers? Or was this a contingency plan that was abandoned?

A maze of hallways ended abruptly at large, reinforced doors. Half expecting the doors to open, he was surprised when their mole led them past it and up several flights of stairs that wound past more reinforced doors and heavy machinery.

Still, they kept going, until-

The ambient light that spilled in from the top made him flinch.

_Daylight_.

Or at least it was a simulation of it. The golden-whiteness of it filtered through the high ceiling as sharp shards of perfection marred only by the bulk of machinery, refracted to cast irregular patterns on the sterile floor.

Indescribable.

After months in darkness countered by the raw, orange glows of the mining furnaces, he felt like a creature partially out of metamorphosis, unused to life beyond the confines of a festering cocoon.

They’d reached the engineering core of the facility.

A large, heavy hand clapped on his shoulder in warning. Teal’c had fallen back slightly, deliberately, urging him silently to keep moving.

No time for breathless wonder.

Daniel jerked himself out of his immobility. With a start, he realised that the stairs had opened out onto the rafters dividing the fifth and sixth storeys. Wide and dusty, they were the architectural pillars of the facility, important but forgotten. Human activity was non-existent here, the scientists preferring the familiar spaces of their labs and the bulky machines.

“Plant three here.”

Daniel palmed the grenade-like explosive where the mole pointed and slapped them onto the heavy structures supporting the storeys above, trying to listen to the conversation of hushed whispers that the mole was having with the rest of the PPA saboteurs.

She broke it off before he could step closer, her lips pursed.

One of them pointed to a strap on his wrist and the digital reading that scrolled down the black surface.

“Yllara, time.”

“Go.”

The small group split. Two of Kren’s men placed their charges on the computer consoles while Kren headed straight for the auxiliary controls, attempting to disengage the safety protocols built into the systems.

Her name seemed familiar, but Daniel didn’t put much stock in it. Right now, he was simply antsy to get going and to complete the divergent mission that he and Teal’c had cobbled together when they were in the tunnels together.

“Another set and we’re done,” Yllara whispered harshly, scrutinising the datapad in her hand intently. “The Korros is already contaminated, but Thera will find out about the chemical breach as soon as the purification machines register the anomalies.”

“Let’s go,” Kren bit out, already on Yllara’s heels.

They hurried out of the corridors, took several turns and long flights of stairs that opened up to an identical layout of the rafters they left a few minutes ago. Daniel mentally reviewed the schematics of the facility that Tving and Sor had briefly beamed onto the bare walls of the PPA hideout as they’d planned the takedown.

According to Tving, explosive charges had to line the structural core of the facility for it to collapse, and with the collapse of its reactive systems, the destabilised Korros would most likely create an exclusion zone that would transform the facility and its surrounds into a frozen wasteland for decades to come.

It didn’t matter if Tving had exaggerated the environmental cost of this impending disaster. But setting the explosives was just step one in his crazy plan. All Daniel knew was that SG-1 needed to get out of this place, leave the crazies to their own brand of violent politics, and lock out this damn planet for good.

Securing Thera Arann— _Sam_ —was step two. And after that, things got complicated.

The sheer amount of luck that they were banking on made him uneasy. Their ability to track Sam’s movements in this huge facility was hugely limited to the small gap of time between detonation and escape, and the pessimist in him knew that things would go awry the minute they—

Yllara’s datapad blinked red and chirped out an ominous warning.

She halted abruptly, raising a hand to stop their progress. The screen illuminated her face, casting a yellow tinge on her pale skin.

“The destabilised Korros is reacting with the contaminants more quickly than expected,” she said grimly. “There is no time for anything else. You must go. Back down, to the tunnels. Soon, the facility will run in failsafe mode and all non-essentials will be locked down. Without a high-level access code, it will be a matter of minutes before you will be caught in the reactor meltdown with no way out.”

Kren nodded and tossed her a spare flashlight and a handheld weapon.

“You heard her. We go. Now.”

Daniel spared Teal’c a desperate glance. “What about Thera Arann?”

“She is in the lab. I made sure of it when I left,” Yllara said, motioning impatiently to the way they came.

Daniel grabbed hold of that information like it was a lifeline, his panic spiking sharply when he saw that Kren was already turning tail, heading back the way they came.

“Arann will be collateral damage. Tving will understand.”

“I agree. There is no time,” Yllara insisted briskly as she pocketed what Kren had given her, matching Kren’s strides. “Go. Tell Meslar we will live to fight another day.”

Daniel dug in his heels, the momentum of suddenly coming to a halt nearly throwing him off his feet. “But we-”

Kren was suddenly in his face, a finger jabbing between his eyes. “Jackson, move.”

Sheer stubbornness made him refuse, even as he felt the heat of Kren’s fury.

The pinched look on Kren’s face morphed into suspicion.

“Who the hell is Thera Arann to you?”

“Ther-”

The words died on his lips as Teal’c disabled Kren in a single move, wrenching his arms behind his back and twisting him in front as a shield against the raised weapons of the other guys.

Daniel scrambled for Kren’s fallen blaster, fixing it on the men pointing their own guns at Teal’c and Kren.

The classic Mexican standoff, he thought, his breaths still choppy and uneven from the burst of adrenaline coursing freely through him.

The unexpected force of a body tackling him from the back sent him to the floor. Hard.

Kren’s blaster sailed into the air, disappearing into the small crevasse separating the landings.

Yllara—the factor that he hadn’t accounted for.

Daniel sagged briefly under the weight, tried to twist out from under her. She was stronger than she looked and the swift kick that she gave his ribs made the sharp pain a Technicolor experience. He saw the flash of silver too late, the fiery burn of sharp blade slicing flesh already stinging his side as he rolled into her hard and somehow managed to dislodge the datapad from her tunic.

It clattered along the floor, spinning until a booted foot stopped it.

He hoped it was Teal’c’s.

Then her hand was around his neck, squeezing tight as the first ominous-sounding alarms began.

oOo

The orders had filtered down from the highest ranks of the Administration a minute ago and none of it sounded good.

“Damn it,” Jack muttered, looking at the training room’s holographic screen that flashed the grim alert.

_Mandatory mobilisation. All counter-insurgency units activated_  
Location: Gaszril pass, Neithana off-site research institute  
Threat level: Critical, suspected security breach, probable Korros contamination  
Full protective equipment on board  
  
Transport assignment: 4R-T2V, fleet 8 WUPU  
Vessel departure imminent

Alby, Cuinn…and the rest of his teammates were already stripping down in the unit’s changing rooms, laying out their gear. Jack joined them, shouldering his blast rifle, tearing at the laces of his boots.

He checked his sidearm. Strapped on the knives. Bucked the safety vests. Stowed the emergency gear for fast-roping and scaling the deadly ice canyons and cliffs that were so prolific outside Neithana.

The usual excitement the hive of activity typically generated was sorely lacking today, replaced by a churning anxiety that he fought to keep from his team. It was impossible to ignore the sinking feeling tightening his gut. Carter was back at work. In all probability, at the facility, fighting this breach, hopefully escaping it.

“We move in two.”

A quick mental calculation of the time that they would need to close the distance between the city and the research institute made him clench his fists, an act that didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else in the changing room.

“On it. Now.”

A terse chorus of ‘yes, Sir’ was the only acknowledgement of his barked order.

What would her odds of survival be?

Something must have shown on his face when Cuinn stopped him on his way out.

“Silver, what’s going on?”

Jack averted his gaze carefully, methodically checking his vest and gear for the last time. “Nothing much.”

“Really?”

“Just peachy.”

_Damn it._

He just didn’t want to go into this now…and by doing so, made denial was his only course of action, especially when he hadn’t yet decided if Cuinn and the rest of the team could be trusted with a revelation that had torn him to shreds merely days ago. Now, it seemed he needed to make this particular decision about his team soon, which was the last thing he deal with when Carter was the only flickering light at the end of this tunnel that he needed to see.

“The men are on edge.”

That much was true.

Jack strode towards the departure hangar where the other teams were loading their vessels, tilting his head back towards Cuinn in what he hoped as a semi-casual stance.

“Wouldn’t you be on edge too?”

Their vessel was already waiting, its landing platform open, the rest of his and Cuinn’s team taking their places.

“It’s me you’re talking to, Jonah,” Cuinn said quietly. “Do me the honour of being truthful here, even if it’s something you have no wish to discuss.”

“Complicated, Cuinn,” Jack grated out and held Cuinn’s penetrating stare.

“If we’re talking about a woman here…then it will never be simple. But I know you, Silver. Something else troubles you.”

“Let’s get to Oz first, shall we?” Jack asked, then regretted that slip almost immediately when a look of confusion briefly crossed Cuinn’s face.

But he was grateful that Cuinn left it alone the moment the vessel was given clearance to pass Neithana’s protective dome.

Jack tapped his fingers impatiently along the glass seams of the vessel as it accelerated and swung high, gaining speed over the fading Neithanan skyline. He exhaled sharply, debated hard and fast how to restart this difficult topic with Cuinn and decided to hell with it.

This particular conversation was unavoidable...even if it looked as though that talking was all he seemed to be doing these days when he much preferred developing an ulcer in his stomach lining.

Counter-insurgency units were sworn to secrecy in the ranks, which made it difficult to weed out the lies, even if that did help restrict the flow of sensitive information. Right now, Cuinn and the rest of the men needed to know what they dealt with; the months that he’d been with them were enough of a reassurance that they were the upright people he thought they were and that not all of Neithana was corrupt.

Thus far, his gut had not turned tail on him.

The Gaszril pass, glorious in its white desolation, stretched for miles under the protective surface of the military transport. He was blind to its harsh beauty, focused only on pushing back the worry that licked at the burnt edges of his sanity.

There’d been no promises between them, but he hoped to hell that Carter knew he would come for her, would have her back anytime, even though their relationship had fundamentally altered since those long ago days as they traipsed across the universe as CO and subordinate.

His thoughts strayed to the escape that they still needed to make and the sudden realisation that they couldn’t achieve this alone stunned him into momentary blankness.

He needed all the help he could get.

Clearing his throat and making sure that he had their undivided attention, he prepared himself for one of the hardest things in his life.

“Not the best timing but there’s something you need to know.”

They stilled.

Trust, he reminded himself, trust their loyalty, their abilities.

Trust and hope. The only pillars on which he could lean right now.

He exhaled sharply. Then prayed for their understanding and their acceptance. For Cuinn to step up as team-leader at his request, effective immediately.

_Here goes nothing._

“Let’s start with this. You can call me Jack.”

oOo

Something was wrong.

The holographic readouts from the precipitation chamber weren’t the numbers Sam could understand; in fact, they were so off the charts that she couldn’t even begin a conservative analysis of the readings.

Had she miscalculated?

Having run those figures through the simulator at least four times before they’d gone for the actual run, that sloppy kind of error seemed unlikely.

Then what the hell had happened?

The answers to that lay in the computing core, where she could retrieve the log files of their simulations relook the steps they must have missed. But the computers’ security blocks had kicked in the moment the numbers had spiked didn’t help matters. For that access, she needed Yllara’s passcodes to override the safety protocols…and Yllara was nowhere to be found.

Sam cast another glance at the scrolling numbers and at the progress bar that hadn’t yet indicated the systems were critical and considered her options.

The only way she could work around this was to head into the computing core or the engineering room and pull up the log files of the day’s co-precipitation results and the unusual rate of decay that has been plaguing this particular batch of Korros.

That would only take her six minutes to get there and back. Enough time to read, analyse and-

The lights went out, replaced by the orange glow of emergency lighting ten seconds later.

An emergency shutdown.

The loud groan of the ceiling’s shutters closing over the glass dome warred with the sudden screech of the alarms that echoed through the cavernous space of the labs. The holographic readouts flickered out, then came back on in power-save mode, running on the safety protocols that must have kicked in the moment the alarms sounded.

In her peripheral vision, she saw the scientists and engineers scurry from their labs, their tunics flapping behind them as they ran. Away from danger and down to the transport bay where evacuation vehicles were programmed to whisk them to a safe place deep underground and a pole away from Neithana—a place she had only heard about and had never seen.

Her stomach plummeted, compounding the building trepidation that sent rivulets of cold sweat down her neck and spine.

Joining them would be the easy option, but if there were ever a chance of reversing the process, she’d take it.

Jerking her eyes away from the fleeing horde, she deliberately lengthened her strides as she wound around the corner. Hurriedly punching in her secure access code, she waited impatiently for the lock to give after the machine’s genetic verification.

It swung open noiselessly. Good.

Not a moment too soon.

Her feet had barely touched the first landing before the entire complex rumbled ominously. Keeping her balance was tricky. Still she climbed, stumbling as pieces of the ceiling came down first like the light dusting of snowflakes then gradually grew to the size of fists.

She barely felt the sharp scrape of the falling chunks across her cheek, staggering once more when the rails came loose and cracked the triple-glazed protective barriers separating the fifth and sixth storeys.

The next shower of loose debris had her ducking in a defensive crouch, arms over her head. Gritted her teeth as the debris rained directly on her. Held that contorted position until only the flow of cement and concrete lessened to a trickle.

Just one more landing to go.

Almost there. Just a little more.

Barely feeling sharp pain in her ankle where a large and sharp piece of concrete had fallen on it, she hauled herself up and tried to keep going.

Metal shards clattered into cement, crashing through the reinforced glass that encased the labs. Billowy, choking clouds of dust made her eyes water, tickling her nostrils as she scrambled out of the way of the debris flow once more.

The computing and engineering core stations looked a mile away.

_Carter! Get your ass up there! Stop that damn thing!_

Strange how it was O’Neill’s impatient bark that she heard in her head.

_Yes, Sir._

Twisting to her feet, Sam stayed low and looked up, biting her lip at the sharp pain that reduced her sprint to a hobble.

And relied on sheer will to head up and up—

The shockwave slammed her backward into a crumbling wall.

Shit. _Shit!_

When next wide landing collapsed in the aftershock, she dropped to a painful crawl on her knees, her vision blurring alarmingly when she swiped at her eyes and then at her head, only for her hand to come away red.

There was no pain, but her chest felt as though it’d been hollowed out, as though her ribs had been rearranged.

And she had a headache. The dull sort. But unrelenting. Her throbbing head was pounding out a rhythm that she seemed to feel through her veins, unnaturally loud even through the squealing alarms.

She was teetering now on the brink of a perilous choice, one that she’d pay for with her life if she made the wrong one. There wasn’t any guarantee if the computing core still existed after the last rumble, but to head back down was going to be twice as difficult now.

The bone-deep exhaustion thrumming through her was almost a relief. Her fatigued muscles demanded rest, weakening her resolve with the sudden, hypnotic pull of sleep. Conscious thought blurred, fizzled out, erasing the fiery pain that licked her joints.

The blackness that slowly encroached inwards from the sides of her vision was a welcome thing, an assurance that the sleep would be deep and undisturbed. She twisted onto her side where it felt most comfortable and leaned her head in a small concavity crudely carved out by a heavy pipe on its journey downwards.

_Up off your ass, Carter!_

_Sir?_

The mental argument she’d gotten going with O’Neill didn’t let up.

Worse than any form of torture, she only remembered most clearly, the things that happened between them after they’d crossed that damned line.

_I need to sleep, Sir._

Rest. Just for a few minutes, before she tried again.

The last thing that registered before the blackness took her under were the faint sounds of coughing and disembodied shouts piercing the roar of the debris shower.


	20. Fallout

Chaos was recognisable in all its forms, even when it was coming from a small blip on the harsh and icy landscape.

Jack felt its frenetic energy even through the reinforced walls of their transport as it circled the half-collapsed dome of the facility once and descended on a spot where the landing ramps were relatively undamaged. He could see those who had escaped unscathed now scurrying to the nearest vehicle available, arms tight around themselves against the biting wind and the punishing temperatures.

Then he wondered if Carter was there. Wondered if she’d been one of those lucky ones out early enough to have gotten past the worst brunt of the collapse. But as soon as the thought entered his head, he knew the opposite was probably the most likely scenario he was going to encounter.

Carter would typically be the _last_ one out of there, if it meant she could fix anything up at all.

The cleanly scrubbed air that he breathed was suddenly suffocating, the tactical armour too tight. Sweat slicked the back of his collar, where his thermal suit and neck brace helped keep his core temperature regulated.

Only decades of training made it second nature to force the paralysing fear away...for now.

The blueprints of the facility were imprinted at the back of his mind.

The briefing that Cuinn had given en route had been short, concise and simple: secure the perimeter, get the injured out and lock down the facility, leaving the containment crew to do the rest.

But Jack’d also got what Cuinn _didn’t_ say.

Searching for Carter did not fall into the mission brief at all.

He had made that conscious choice to defer to Cuinn, knowing that had been a necessary follow-up in the light of what he’d sombrely confessed in front of his team and Cuinn’s, whose word was gold now.

They’d taken it impassively, but he’d been around long enough to know such news would eventually scythe through the counter-insurgency troops like wildfire.

Not that Jack planned to be here long enough for the fallout. All he knew was the team was left in Cuinn’s very capable hands and that was good enough for him.

The sudden lurch of their descending craft to port threw him off balance, the compensatory move for the buffeting wind further grating his frayed nerves.

They drew closer, slowing further when their pilot circled the damaged portion of the building. Up close, the gaping hole was an enormous blight on the facility’s pristine façade.

The heavy weight of a hand fell on his shoulder just as heard the squeal of the landing gear and the gravitational locks being engaged.

“Can you do this…Jack?”

Cuinn tested his name like a foreign word, a concept he didn’t really understand yet.

He couldn’t blame the guy.

Jack O’Neill was still sometimes, more foreign to him than Jonah Tuvall was: a former Special Forces USAF soldier carved out of tragedy who, after emerging from the ashes a phoenix reborn, took regular trips to planets in the galaxy for work.

Jack. Or Jonah. Did it matter? Were they actually, one and the same, despite the duality that now coexisted in him? Or was he—

“Can you do this?”

Cuinn’s question broke through brief bout of confusion.

In that split second, Jack thought only of Carter and all that they’d been through. Then of Daniel, Teal’c and how SG-1 reacted to disasters.

“I have to.”

Jack tightened his grip on his weapon and pulled down his visor against the wind as the ramp lowered excruciatingly slowly into the swirling mass of panic.

oOo

It was a miracle he’d gotten free.

Thanks to Teal’c and his mysterious Jaffa ways at least.

And Daniel didn’t question these miracles wherever they came from, partly out of the fear that voicing them would stop their supply. But hell was still breaking loose and he hoped that there were still a few more tricks they could pull out of their pockets.

His feet moved of its own volition when the building shook on its foundations.

The dominoes were starting to fall, built on momentum that would send rumbles through the Administration. Anarchy and chaos would soon follow.

A large hand thrust a small blaster rifle and knife into his chest.

He grabbed them and tried not to howl from the burn that his movements created, trying to keep pace with Teal’c when the ground itself seemed to be loosening.

“What happened? Yllara? Kren?”

Only a slight narrowing of the Jaffa’s eyes betrayed his annoyance.

“Kren escaped. After I freed you,” Teal’c continued, “Yllara fell over the rafters and onto a sharp remnant of the falling ceiling. She is incapacitated.”

Dead, more like. Daniel winced at the mental image, marvelling at the same time how Teal’c had managed to deliver that piece of news with unwavering stoicism.

“Stay low. Daniel Jackson.”

They wound around the other side of the rafters where it joined the other end of the facility, he realised. From his vantage point, he saw the scientists pouring out of the place, putting as much distance between them and the reactor.

It would be wise if they did the same, but…there was still Sam.

By the time they’d crossed the corridor, he was panting, shivering but dripping sweat. The climate-controlled atmosphere in the facility had shut off the moment the alarms began, the unnatural cold from the glaciers encircling the region already pushing in.

“Teal’c. We need to find Sam,” he said through gritted teeth as Teal’c helped him over a particularly deep ditch. God, it was hard to breathe, let alone to push out those words. “Maybe. In the labs, Yllara said. The Korros lab.”

At least it was what he’d vaguely remembered of the schematics for that short time he’d been allowed to peruse them in the PPA tunnels.

How many labs were there? Were they still accessible? And what were the chances that they’d find her in this behemoth of a collapsing complex run by hundreds of Neithana’s most brilliant minds?

Throw in a man-made disaster on the brink of happening and those probabilities dipped even further.

Daniel shook his head, not even caring to rationally consider their dwindling odds of locating Sam.

They ploughed on, skirting the more badly damaged part of the building and the occasional severed body part that made him want to retch. Still, they continued climbing, scrabbling at parts where the rubble had piled up high enough to reach the next level.

All the while, the klaxons pounded a cacophonous chorus in his head.

_Systems critical. Overload. Shut-down bypassed._

The numerous detours they were making started to look confusing.

Midway through their search, even Daniel had to admit to himself that they might be pursuing a useless course.

An acrid smell permeated the last, viable landing. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what kind of chemical leak that was, or how dangerous it could be to the fragile constitution of humans.

Teal’c’s footsteps crunched heavily in the debris, carving a rhythm that was oddly comforting in its consistent regularity. His gait was quick but measured, set at a pace Daniel was thankful he could follow without too much difficulty.

The slight sound of shifting rubble roused him out of his tunnel vision.

To the right, where one corridor merged into another.

The orange-tinged hue of the emergency lighting washed out the grey and white hues of the concrete, hitting the fallen shards of glass with a painful golden glare.

Blinking once, he caught the gleam of a different hue. Flaxen, almost red, soft against the sharp angles of the debris piling higher by the second.

Blond.

A slender, feminine figure, crumpled and bent on the undulating surface, face down. Hit by the falling debris, no doubt. Blood from a head wound staining the concrete an unforgiving deep red, colouring the blond strands on her head a rusty brown.

A worker? A scientist?

The oddness…and the sheer familiarity of the image burned his retinas. For a moment, Daniel stared, uncomprehending of what he thought he was seeing.

Gingerly, he turned her over.

The initial shock that had frozen his limbs thawed a little when dawning recognition overtook him, replaced almost immediately by relief and joy that buckled his knees.

_Oh god._

_Sam._

“Teal’c!”

He half hopped, half stumbled on his way to her, then crouched, attempting to lift her inert form as gently as he could as he frantically searched for any other injuries other than the obvious wound on her head.

A twisted ankle, bleeding as well. Scratched, badly bruised arms. Thin, red welts on her pale face, stark against the emergency lighting.

Daniel tapped her on the cheek as hard as he dared, urging her to consciousness.

“Sam! Come on, Sam! Wake up!”

She stirred, then stilled. But the flicker of her eyelids at least indicated that she wasn’t fully out cold. His heart leapt to his throat and stayed there.

Good.

He needed to rouse her, get her awake and to her feet.

A long-forgotten piece of First Aid advice wormed its way into his memory, warning him to err on the side of caution when it came to head injuries. Medical protocol dictated that casualties with head injuries shouldn’t even be moved, if possible. It was valuable knowledge that he was going to leave by the wayside, seeing that their lives were threatened by something way more lethal than a head or a neck wound whi—

He felt the bulk of Sam’s weight disappear into the beefy strength of the Jaffa’s arms, startled by Teal’c sudden reappearance out of thin air and the high-pitched whine of a new alarm sounding through this section of the facility.

The freezing blast of sub-zero winds hit him in the face.

A ventilation leak.

Just like that, the roaring was back in his ears, his limbs still weak from the adrenaline coursing anew through his system.

_Head back down,_ the voice in his head urged. Way down into the relative safety of the underground tunnels.

Like yesterday.

Daniel threw a look to his right and knew that was an impossibility now, when the way past the third landing was muddied with debris and collapsed walls. Crisscrossing beams weren’t the only obstacles they needed to clear. A convoluted tangle of steel trusses that had once fortified the overhanging corridors and landings lay at a dangerous incline…and beyond any ordinary man’s single-handed capability to move.

His boots stuttered on the concrete.

He could only point out the obvious. “Teal’c, we can’t go that way.”

“Past the wall is another opening we must use, Daniel Jackson. Look to your left.”

Then he saw it, after a few seconds of frantic searching.

A small hole precariously patterned out by the fallen structures of the ceiling that would barely allow a crouching figure to crawl through, but not without deep flesh wounds.

Teal’c blasted the jagged edges of the opening with their stolen weapons, marginally widening the gaping hole.

It wasn’t enough. Whatever material the ballast was made of barely dented with the blast of their weapons.

For that, they needed Sam awake...and mobile.

oOo

“—on, Sam, come on!”

“—Major Carter.”

The drugging heaviness lifted slightly, the sound of her real name from an achingly familiar voice like a sudden stab of recognition to the heart.

_Sam Carter._

The incessant tapping on her face was her reluctant anchor back into the conscious world, her eyelids blinking open to the blurry sight of the other half of SG-1. Her vision tunnelled once more as her mental processes fought the lingering effects of the mind-stamp process to match identity to face.

“Da..daniel? Teal’c?”

Their names came out as a choked, hoarse whisper as she groped for the right words. And found none, except for the names that had been lost to her for so long.

Clearly Daniel was as emotionally overcome as she was.

“It’s really good to see you, Sam.”

For Teal’c, the warm, welcome glint in his eyes, a tilt in his head and the heavy, guiding hand on her shoulder as she struggled to sit up conveyed all that he’d needed to say.

“Not trying to be a dampener on this reunion, but this isn’t exactly a good time,” Daniel put in.

_A good time…for what?_

Damn it.

It came back in a flash, aided by the sharpness of the debris that pierced the thinner skin on the underside of her forearms when she tried to shift her weight from her arms to her feet.

The sudden, complete collapse of the Korros overload. The imminent meltdown.

Her futile attempt to reach the controls. The alarms. The sealed corridors and the malfunctioning equipment.

What she’d mistakenly thought of as the roaring in her ears was actually a series of very ominous-sounding rumbles that was shaking the very foundations of the facility.

_No time for anything else but escape._

The only way out was through that small hole Teal’c pointed at.

It looked like a mile of hell, with purgatory packed into it.

But there was light at the end of that tunnel somehow. Literally. The yellow and red flashes of the emergency systems that helped to infuse some light into the shaft now illuminated the ruined corridor.

She flashed Daniel a grim look and launched her body through it.

The sharp edges tore straight into her abdomen, her thighs, knees and palms, leaving bloody streaks and salty tears through on the harsh, unforgiving metal debris.

_Just a little more, Carter._

Pain warred with lucidity, leaching her peripheral vision of colour. Desperation alone gave her the boost she sorely needed to complete that excruciating crawl through hell.

“Don’t stop, Sam!”

She felt the irrational urge to yell at Daniel.

For stating the obvious.

For forcing her to do what she didn’t want to do.

For telling her to hurry when all she wanted was to do was for the pain to stop. Dimly, she heard a loud, clanging noise following the pulses of an automatic weapon, opening up the tunnel even further.

“Hurry, Major Carter.” Teal’c’s quiet, urgent tone helped.

Someone whimpered. In the distance. The sound was unpractised, like sobs and groans repressed with a determined fist between the teeth.

It took Sam a second to realise that it issued from her own throat.

_Onwards, Carter._ _Get the fuck up, now._

That wasn’t just her voice that she heard. Instead, it was the combination of orders, familiar grunts and affectionate jesting rolled into one, pulled from the disembodied tones of her commanding officers, O’Neill, her father and everyone else she remembered in her entire career.

Blinking the stinging salt of the sweat that dripped into her eyes, the next knee-step dropped her out of the hole and into the passageway that led out to the facility’s staff docking area. She pitched forward into the sudden drop in height, bracing herself for the hard landing, gratified that it didn’t hurt any more than she’d anticipated.

A firm grip under her arms kept her upright when her knees buckled and collapsed under her.

“Thanks, Teal’c.”

His nod of acknowledgement was sombre, his grim, visual assessment of her injuries as he appraised her saying more than words could.

“That bad, huh?”

“Indeed.”

Daniel finally crawled out of the space, looking as harried as she felt. “What about Jack?”

The thought of how she and O’Neill had left things between them burned at the mention of his name.

Sam started to shake her head, then caught Daniel’s horrified expression.

“He isn’t dead. But he isn’t here,” she managed to grind out. At least she didn’t think he was. Hoped he was far away, attending to his duties, and safe back in Neithana. “It’s a long story. We’ll still need to get to the transport docks. Luckily, it isn’t far. Mezzanine level, about twenty feet across the foyer.”

She’d take those wary looks of acceptance from Daniel and Teal’c for now but before she could say anything further to reassure them, the world as she knew tilted when Teal’c hefted her in a fireman’s carry without warning.

No hesitation, straight back into the action.

That special mix of foolhardiness, recklessness and never counting the odds that somehow came to make up the unspoken ethos of SG-1.

She missed that collective sense of adventure almost as much as she missed O’Neill.

Each awkward bounce across the uneven surface dug Teal’c shoulder deeper into her ribs. Piles of rubble blocked their way, but Teal’c and Daniel wound their way through the debris with more speed than she could have managed on her own.

The space opened out into the hangar, the noisy chaos of the dock under the emergency strobe lighting as overwhelming as her deathly solitude in the stairwells before Daniel and Teal’c had found her. At the far side of the hanger, tactical teams were already moving in, initiating some form of crowd control and setting up impenetrable layers of men and equipment between the flight deck and the most-heavily damaged portion of the facility.

“Take any shuttle,” she yelled as best as she could to Teal’c, pointing as much as her shoulder would allow her. “They all go to the city.”

The constant rumbling of the facility had become an indecipherable mix of roaring engines, panicked shouts and—

A metallic odour singed her nostrils just as the emergency lights shut off, plunging the hanger into darkness, lit only by the red lights of departing transport ships. Smoke and dust avalanched through ceiling, coating the ships a dusty grey.

“Hurry!”

_Shit._

Meltdown was imminent. Just how long exactly that would take, she didn’t know, not without her scientific equipment and charts that could calculate the overload and the ineffective failsafes.

But she suspected, all they had were seconds.

And evacuation was nowhere near complete.

Only when they were a few metres from the nearest loading shuttle did Teal’c turn her upright, steadying her as she struggled to stand, then shoved her up the long ramp and into the cargo hold that already held white-faced technicians and engineers.

She sat down hard on the wire-mesh floor, gracelessly shoving away their feet to make room for Teal’c and Daniel, ignoring their indignant gasps and protests.

Daniel was the last to cram into the space. He slammed his fist on the hatch access lever and barrelled to a stop next to her, his breaths choppy and heavy just as the transport shuttle shuddered its way upwards, weighed down by human cargo that had long gone past the stipulated maximum weight limit, the hatch still partially opened.

The shaking and buffeting continued, worsened as the pilot tried to compensate for the drag.

“Maximum capacity exceeded,” a mechanical voice droned repeatedly from the front, drowned out by the roar of the engines and the sharp buzzing of the flickering lights overhead.

The closing hatch narrowed Sam’s field of vision into a trapezoidal wedge of white and grey but it didn’t obscure the horrific sight of the crumpling reinforced walls, the shielding dome and the heavy fumes that plumed from its centre. Only when it slammed home did the shuttle regain some equilibrium—

The sonic boom was felt first, then heard, penetrating even the reinforced material of the shuttle.

Without warning, the ship rolled once, twice and pitched hard to port, then to starboard, the groan of the engines fighting the powerful force of the Korros explosion.

She lurched to the side, hard, and fell into the midst of a tangle of flailing limbs.

A cacophony of moans, curses and screams filled the small cargo space.

It stung her ears, as painfully as her own wounds grated on hers.

There was the sudden, heavy weight of several people on her, torn from their harnesses and dislodged from their seats. A booted foot had scraped her temple and a bloodied hand had somehow found her knee.

One by one, they were lifted off her—Teal’c, she guessed—as the shuttle slowly righted itself, through the turbulence as they soared upwards and banked hard into the clear, frigid skies, away from the carnage and the fallout.


	21. Fractured Loss

Sam had looked back over her shoulder at the shrinking sight of the facility through the clear wedged-shaped windows of the shuttle to know that she’d been very, very lucky.

Yet another close shave and a miraculous rescue by Teal’c and Daniel made it seem like they were back in business, even though it was far from over.

The ride was thankfully short.

Their pilot had piled on the super-sonic speed and winged his way past the vast ice-sheet and straight into a small section of the dome that was as good as permanently open for vehicles to come and go. The three of them had merely huddled together in the cramped transport, though she couldn’t trust that anyone hadn’t heard more than what they were meant to.

With a swerve and a rough touchdown, the rear hatch opened with a loud clang, then clamped shut once again the moment the last person disembarked, the pilot clearly in a hurry to get back to his job of ferrying people in and out of the carnage.

She watched the shuttle soar back out of the city, dipping along with the wind currents until it slipped out of sight.

For that reason, they’d been dumped at the nearest docking station at the edge of Neithana, an isolated spot typically used only by the counter-insurgency forces and the logistics arm of the Administration.

Which worked perfectly for their purposes. They needed to lie low, solidify the rumours that they’d been found dead in the ruins while the Administration attempted to rein in the chaos.

Find safety in numbers, blend in, then slip away, taking advantage of the pandemonium that had engulfed this part of the dock.

The old, abandoned medical wing in the west of the city was the only place that came up as a backup site for them to regroup and hammer out yet another plan to get back to Earth after snatching O’Neill from his duties.

Now that the memories were back, the thought of going back to that wretched place gave her the creeps. The first few weeks she’d been there, she’d been barely lucid, as serum after serum was pumped into her veins in preparation for the mindstamping procedure. Past the night terrors, the uncontrollable chills and shakes, the hot flushes and deliberate induction of dreamlike states where realities became blurred lines, it had been a quick slide into a nightmare that consisted of repetitive encoding, coerced input and storage of data until Thera Arann finally crawled out of the skin of Sam Carter.

Whatever was brewing in Neithana, they had no more business poking their noses into, apart from the very inconvenient fact that the Stargate lay deep in the hornet’s nest.

But getting there was going to involve some thievery, some kickass driving and a huge amount of risk—yet again—while keeping their heads down.

Sam motioned for Teal’c and Daniel to step aside as the rest of the stragglers stumbled off the docks and into the hive of never-ending activity. They hadn’t spoken much at all, unwilling to compare their stories until it was safe to do so but SG-1 hadn’t always needed words to communicate.

But she’d underestimated how much pain could slow her down.

A solid shoulder hefted her up on one side while a beefy arm banded itself around her waist. On the other side, Daniel did the same.

Only Teal’c reassuring bulk and Daniel’s unwavering strength reeled her back in, helped keep her upright. Together like this, she felt weightless, nearly invincible, despite the injuries that she carried.

They kept their heads down, shuffling through a side exit that remained unused and into a stairwell that only led upwards. It took only a moment for her to realise that Teal’c and Daniel were following her lead, as though they weren’t familiar with the main city at all.

Maybe they weren’t.

She didn’t know their stories yet, or what had really happened to them over the course of the past many months, just as it hadn’t really sunk in yet that they’d found her in a miracle of coincidences. All that mattered was that three-quarters of the team was back together, against all odds and mentally sound, at that.

The stairs stopped abruptly on the third level, the single doorway opening out onto a short corridor. A quick nod to Teal’c had him pushing the first door open only to reveal cleaning supplies and an abundance of towels and cloths.

Good enough.

They huddled into the small space as she finally talked out her intentions.

But the sudden, tight hug from Daniel caught her by surprise, as did the gentler one that came from Teal’c, making her eyes burn for another reason altogether.

“Sam—” Daniel couldn’t say any more.

Neither could she.

“It is good to see you again, Major Carter.”

Only the sting of her fingernails against her palms kept the tears from falling. The horrifying thought of going back to the place of torture gave way to a mix of relief and resignation.

It took a while before she could speak again. “I know, Teal’c. It’s good to see you too.”

A sharp inhale before she got straight back to business.

“We need to lie low. Maybe even hide in plain sight for a while. Unfortunately, the only place I can think of would be the medical wing where we were held the first few weeks after our capture. No one will look for us there. At least for the next 24 to 48 hours.”

From the scowl on Daniel’s face and the hard look on Teal’c, she gathered that they weren’t too keen either.

“Is there a Plan C?”

“Indeed.”

“It’s only temporary.” Sam tacked on this caveat for their reassurance as much as hers. “Everything else is out of bounds. The lab, the apartment, all of it. And there’s still Ja—the Colonel to consider.”

“The lab, the apartment and Jack.” Daniel raised his brows knowingly. “I think this is going to be a long, interesting story.”

She fought not to squirm under his assessing gaze, then tried to quell the deep flash of regret each time she thought of O’Neill and how they’d ended their last conversation. And how she’d wished, in hindsight, that she’d had another form of courage that wasn’t just given to military exploits.

Daniel didn’t know even half of it. But that had to go on the backburner.

“The storytelling will have to wait for now.”

oOo

The mood was sombre, the destruction near total.

Search and recovery efforts were well underway, but no one could ignore the aftermath of chaos. Fatigue became a constant companion, responsible for the slump in people’s shoulders and slowing their gait, scenting the air with hopelessness.

Jack watched as the mist from steaming bowl of stew that he held in his hands rose in lazy swirls into the frigid air. He barely tasted the spoonful that he shovelled into his mouth, stifling the cough that threatened to bring it all back up again.

The maintenance crew had rushed to seal the ventilation leaks, but the interior temperature wasn’t regulated yet, giving the structural engineers and the scientists both hell.

The shifts had just rotated, the latest convoy of transport vehicles unloading yet more team members that had only added confusion to the mix, straining the resources of the temporary quarters which already housed counter-insurgency teams and recovery crew operating on a razor-sharp edge of tension.

What else could explain the hellacious mood that he’d been in ever since that explosion? There was still a job to do, an investigation squad to form and tons of reports to write. And Jack was long past the point of exhaustion, spending every waking moment when he wasn’t preoccupied with the damned aftermath to wrap his head around the fact that Carter was missing.

In all probability, she was dead.

_Dead._

Loss has always been a part of the career soldier’s vocabulary, but this….

Helplessness crippled him for a brief instance as he recalled the horrific moment when the systems overloaded.

The shockwave from the blast has been so great that it had obliterated the transport vehicles that hovered near the facility. What more would it have done to the people inside?

There was no way anyone could have survived it. Not even Carter, with all the superhuman thinking quick-thinking wits that she seemed to possess.

He’d seen the ruins.

Been the first to scramble off the flight shuttle when it landed. Had felt the shock slam into him as strongly as the shuttle’s landing thrusters had thrown him off his seat. Had strained at his heels like a dog to rush into the debris and would have in all likelihood killed himself with the poisonous fumes emanating from ground zero had Cuinn not yanked him back and talked some sense into him to go in with a hazmat suit.

Once suited up, he’d searched frantically in every nook and corner for the tell-tale signs of blond hair and the scientist-robes that she favoured. But he hadn’t been prepared to come into contact with nothing but ash, barely able to fathom how a tiny bit of Korros had pulverised everything in its path and ground things to powder.

Even human bones that were known to withstand the test of time in burial mounds or cemeteries, were no match for the destructive power of a highly-corrosive explosion.

There was nothing left of Carter. No trace of her presence, no remnant of the soldier he’d commanded or the woman he’d known as Thera.

Shortly after, the Administration had confirmed the number of people in the research facility when the meltdown occurred, naming Carter as one of the casualties. It’d sent shock waves through the whole city, as Neithana mourned the untimely deaths of their best and brightest.

Bewildering even, because the tearing, burning sensation of grief hadn’t yet sunk its claws into him. Yet the very air he breathed strangled him as the very thought of Carter dying in the explosion looped in his head.

Years of service—flying by the edge of his seat in classified missions that had fucked up more than he’d liked, dodging artillery fire, seeing hell on earth as a prisoner of war—followed by the interminably hollow years mourning Charlie and the inevitable loss of his marriage…these were still pitifully inadequate in preparing him for the loss of Carter.

It had always been a possibility that had grown unknowingly theoretical each time SG-1 had tumbled through the Earth’s gate by the skin of their teeth. To be faced with the reality of a teammate’s death had never been easy.

But this was Carter, who wasn’t _just_ a teammate. And she would never be one of the countless others he’d seen bleeding out before him in enemy territory as their eyes turned lifeless.

Jack shoved away the soup, his appetite gone.

He picked up the hazmat suit with mechanical motions, stepping into gear, readying himself for the next back-to-back shift in the hope that he’d pass out from exhaustion by the time it all ended.

Blinking away a suspicious wetness that’d formed behind the impenetrable mask of the suit, Jack willed his concentration back to the recovery efforts and the workers who scurried like ants to salvage whatever they could.

He tapped impatient fingers against his thigh absently, the staccato rhythm faltering after a few seconds as his shaking fingers turned inwards into a tightly-clenched fist.

His feet led him back to the site of the explosion without him realising it.

The quadrant that had been destroyed had been the one in which Carter had worked, the explosion so severe that it had torn even the structural foundations of the building that had gone deep underground.

Now, large swaths of the facility were cordoned off, stretching the counter-insurgency forces to their limit as they were placed on guard duty when they would have been better back in the city securing its perimeters.

Jack nodded to one of them, then stepped over the erected barriers, taking in the sheer magnitude of the debris and the clean-up work they had ahead of them. Debris and melting snow mixed in sludgy rivulets, hampering the crew’s efforts in moving the heavy machinery and equipment to drier storage areas.

He trudged through the mire, swallowing down the emotion that was straining to burst free at its seams. Refusing to let grief get a foothold of him as he surveyed the smoking ruins of the facility from the edge of the perimeter that the counter-insurgency units had created.

Not right now.

Jack knew, perhaps better than anyone else, how life and death situations distorted reality. They amplified or shrank what people knew of their own worlds, then remade them into fragile things that sought to build walls to shield their newfound weaknesses. Yet there was still no textbook that could ever explain or teach anyone how to take steps beyond their grief when the next minute was impossible to think about, let alone live through.

Work—backbreaking, manual labour—was his only oblivion right now. He knew now that it wasn’t to be found at the business end of his service weapon—that much had he changed, despite the temptation of it being greater than ever.

There was still the rest of SG-1 to think about, if they were still alive.

Work was the only small comfort he could find, the only faithful companion that slapped back the helplessness for as long as his body was able.

Only after this shift, when he was at the point of exhaustion and collapse, he’d think of Teal’c, Daniel…and Carter.

oOo

An equipment check had confirmed their limited firearms options and there simply wasn’t anything in the old medical wing that Sam could rig up that would be of any use to them. And with the political situation in Neithana about to his boiling point, they’d need all the allies they could get. Teal’c raid of the shelves had at least yielded a range of medication that would prove useful for Sam.

“I don’t think we can do this on our own.”

The slight tilt of Teal’c’s head conveyed disapproval.

“This is not entirely true, Daniel Jackson. Circumstances can be our ally.”

The Jaffa had a point.

They’d all been pawns, one way or another, caught between Calder’s desperate hold onto power and the PPA’s own sinister agenda. Yet the Korros explosion had, thank the fates, managed to extricate them from this political tinderbox that was going to ignite sooner or later.

The convenient timing freed them for escape, didn’t it? But given their luck, the best-laid plans _always_ went awry.

Daniel looked around the cavernous room, sterile and unlit, and fought to suppress a shiver. The place didn’t look as though it belonged in the set of a horror movie. But it was the stuff of nightmares, indelibly stained with countless spills of blood, its pristine condition somehow a starker reminder of how much had been washed away, both literally and figuratively.

Without any equipment lining its corners, the room seemed much bigger than Daniel remembered, but then again, like Sam, he suspected his own memories were much fuzzier than he thought they were.

Whereas Teal’c’s symbiote put him in a different league altogether.

The lack of sleep wasn’t helping, but any chance for shuteye had long dissipated into the arctic wind the moment they realised they’d been all but given a small window of time for escape. With every passing minute, their chances of success diminished drastically.

After they’d compared stories and pieced together the events of the past few months, it seemed that he and Teal’c were further along their recovery than Sam and Jack, who had to be struggling much more than they had. To be implanted with the memories not of their own, then remade as pawns in service of the Administration because they were somehow more ‘useful’, yet somehow finding their way back to each other while doing so…that alone beggared belief.

Now all it did was give him a headache.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone to be on our side, Teal’c.”

“Neither would I, Major Carter.”

Daniel picked out an innocuous-looking tube from their newly-discovered stash, read the active ingredients aloud and handed it to Sam.

She nodded once in thanks.

He took stock of her injuries. Multiple cuts, scrapes and bruises, a possible ankle-fracture. Or a partial break, at the worst.

Mobility was out of the question, unless Neithana used sarcophagi or had the technology to heal fractured joints in a millisecond.

“We’re banking on the fact that Calder isn’t aware of the mindstamp failures in our cases,” Sam said slowly, then hissed as the salve hit a particularly painful spot. “As far as he knows, we’re loyal subjects of Neithana and to the Administration. Or in my case, a dead, loyal citizen.”

“Then Jack probably thinks you’re dead too.”

He watched as the colour leached from Sam’s face as the implication sank in. Dealing with the death of a team member—even if it was false information they were going to perpetrate—took everything out of a person. For Sam and Jack, the burden of loss would always be greater for all the things left unsaid between them.

Defeat hung heavy on her shoulders for a moment. “I can’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling.”

“O’Neill’s distress will only be temporary, Major Carter.” Teal’c hand came down heavy on her uninjured arm. “The Tau’ri have proven their resilience time and again, and none more than O’Neill.”

Her humourless laugh was loud in the sudden silence. “We can only hope, Teal’c.”

Daniel wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the incident at the facility was all that the PPA had planned, but now that he and Teal’c were not privy to their plans after escaping from the meltdown, there was no way of unravelling or even second-guessing the rest of their agenda—which Tving had kept secret anyway.

Hierarchy existed in all organisations. Legal or criminal. There had been sufficient signs that the PPA suffered from internal squabbling and dissention, just as the Administration’s smooth, well-run façade had shown cracks that threatened to crumble under pressure. Players tussled for power and dominance as challengers sniffed around and poked at weak spots. There were secrets upon secrets, agendas entangled in a complicated history of violence and destruction...things that SG-1 shouldn’t get involved in apart from manipulating these events to get home when separating wheat from chaff proved impossible.

From where he stood, overlooking the savage beauty of the twilight that hit the ice sheet outside the dome, Daniel wondered if this would be the very thing that broke SG-1. Even when they returned, who was to say that their GDOs wouldn’t be locked out? Or that they wouldn’t be subjected to months of psychiatric evaluation, barred from gate travel and placed on extended leave while the top brass decided what to do with them?

Too many questions, no answers to them.

But Daniel never could deal with it the soldierly way, at least not the way Sam and Jack dealt with fissures—patching them up through the sheer will and the extraordinarily honed-ability to compartmentalise.

What had been SG-1’s original mission anyway? They’d fallen so far short of it here that it had become every man for himself in a place like this. Friendly contact and relations be damned.

Daniel flicked a glance at Sam and then at Teal’c who was dealing with her scrapes and bruises. He walked over to the sink, drinking greedily of the water that flowed fast and freely from the tap.

Pure glacial run-off, he suspected, as he splashed some on his face, craving the shock of the frigid liquid to his system. Fresh water was abundant here, judging from the Administration’s careless allocation of it to homes and industries. The only benefit of being perpetually stuck in an ice age, he supposed, thanks to a civilisation’s desperation and greed.

The cold rivulets running down his neck made him splutter and shiver.

The bone-deep exhaustion faded—momentarily—into alertness once again as he wrapped his mind around the kind of plan they had to make to grab Jack, create a distraction to get Calder and his security goons out of the Administration, then time it all so perfectly that they’d get through the gate in order to do multiple planet hops before they reached Earth.

Terrible plans were SG-1’s forte.

Easy peasy, as Jack would say.

And that was always farthest from the truth.

Teal’c interrupted his morose thoughts. “There is always a way, Major Carter.”

The sides of her mouth twitched upwards just as confusion marred her brow. “You’re talking about a plan D or E.”

“I’m sure we’re quite near the end of the alphabet by now,” he put in mildly.

Teal’c was undeterred. “O’Neill is alive as we are. I have every confidence that we will return to Earth.”

Daniel watched Sam closely. The grief was still heavily etched in her features, but the thought of plans and action was a renewed source of motivation.

Sam shook her head. “Think about it. Our endpoint is getting to the Stargate, which is guarded and located deep in the Administration building. We need to find Jac—I mean the Colonel, and then get through the gate. But given the right equipment, we can track intel reports and underground chatter, maybe even guard rotation schedules.”

“Timing is of the utmost importance, Major Carter. As are our second chances.”

Again, that slip, on which he didn’t call her out, just as he suspected that Teal’c words were layered with meaning Sam couldn’t have possibly missed. It was clear that so much had happened between his best friend and a woman he considered his closest kin in every way—so much that Sam didn’t even have to mention anything—, though stubbornness probably played as large a part as their unwavering loyalties to the Air Force did.

She gave the both of them a quelling, significant look.

“I know that, Teal’c. But right now, we need a distraction. And equipment. And schedules.”

“And pure luck.”

“That too.”

Expectation weighed heavy on them. But there was also some form of muted excitement and emotion—so fleeting yet so familiar—that snaked through it. Take the thought of defeat out of the equation and there it was.

Hope. Faint, euphoric hope.


	22. Trajectories

The lengthening shadows heralded the arrival of dusk in the city, made all the more extraordinary by the light that was refracted through the circular shield.

O’Neill hadn’t noticed a second of it as he got off the transport shuttle that docked him at the north end of Neithana.

He could only think of Carter. But he also thought of her as Thera as the punch of grief hit without warning.

The headache that had been a constant companion and a pain in the ass hadn’t let up, but neither had the deadened feel of his body after the absolute hell he’d put himself through in the past few days.

His own damn fault, he supposed, for not permitting himself any headspace to think about anything else apart from pushing himself deeper into the recovery efforts off-site with a team that wasn’t really his team. He’d worked himself hard and worked himself over, numbing every waking hour with his brain in overdrive and every free minute launching escape scenarios in his head, only to stutter to a stop each time Carter’s name circled back around.

The fog of misery just hadn’t lifted enough for any concrete plan to form and unlike the damn time when he’d thought he was stuck for good on Edora, he wasn’t alone on this planet.

Daniel and Teal’c, still missing, status unknown.

Wasn’t that reason enough to go on?

He wished it were a question he could answer in the affirmative without hesitation. But grief had twisted his emotions and exhaustion had him tripping over his own thoughts.

A whisper of movement out of the corner of his eye put an abrupt end his morose musings.

O’Neill blinked at the slight intrusion, but didn’t slow his steps. He kept his head down, continuing a block past his intended destination and slipped behind a tall fence that separated this district from the next.

The unease that dogged him intensified, like a damn fly he couldn’t swat away. Unable to shake off the feeling that he was in someone’s crosshairs, he drew his blaster, kept his back flush against concrete and waited.

From a narrow alleyway, a small creature scurried away.

The minutes ticked by, but there was only silence in this dilapidated corner of town.

Circling the building twice, O’Neill did a right, then a left. Straight into another corner. Then he waited again.

_Silence._

Nothing. _Nada_.

He hadn’t imagined things.

Or had he? Or was that paranoia induced by extreme fatigue, grief and overwork?

A cautious step out onto the main street brought him back into the flow of people that was typical of peak hour traffic.

Twenty minutes later, the rendezvous point snapped into view—a small, run-down structure designed deliberately so that civilians would bypass it without a second thought.

O’Neill rounded the side of the building, tapped in his security code, cleared the retina scan, and briefly nodded at the guard who stood by the door. Save for the small lookout by the main entrance, the whole place was windowless and lined with acoustic panels for sound clarity, with a number of complicated doohickeys best used by Carter.

_Carter_. Again, that deluge of emotions he couldn’t deal with right now.

The rest of the team trudged into the war room, shooting the shit, just as the lights dimmed. They stood with their backs to the wall, as fatigued as he was, but bright-eyed and recharged after a few hours’ of rest.

All except for him, it seemed.

A bright pinprick of light suddenly filled the darkness, enlarging into a hologram of a scowling face that stared him straight in the eyes, before shrinking back into a rotating 3-D image of a man who was beamed from the holographic projector.

Tall, bearded, with a high forehead and a narrow face. Sharp, intelligent eyes.

“Meslar Tving. Alliance: Planet Protection Agency. Status: unknown.”

The hologram dissolved into specks of gold before changing into the face of a woman. Like before, it shank and rotated, the slimmer body of a dark-haired, nondescript female, with the same calculating gaze as Tving taking its place.

“Coran Sor. Alliance: Planet Protection Agency. Status: unknown.”

The hologram switched images yet again.

“Yllara Gorsan, Research scientist. Alliance: Unknown. Status: deceased. ”

An automated voice relayed the details, just as it always did. Everything they did, just like the nature of their business, was shrouded in secrecy. Their orders were given and expected to be obeyed, with the motivations behind those decisions opaque at best. The only requirement was an unquestioning loyalty to the Administration and a relentless upkeep of skills that were put into use—brutally at times—when asked for. In that respect, it differed little from the way the military functioned.

“Intelligence states that the PPA’s strike is merely pre-emptive,” the voice droned on. “But in doing so, they are provoking us into all-out retaliation. As much as they wish to undermine the Korros Project, the explosion in the facility is by no means their endgame. The Administration believes that they will not stop until all the shipment of Korros is destroyed or contaminated to the point where they cannot be purified.”

O’Neill and Cuinn exchanged a look at the implication of what was just said. The focus of their mission had clearly shifted from recovery to offense.

Like clockwork, the confirmation came a second later, as their datapads beeped a signal for an incoming document download.

As soon as he punched the button on the screen, the blueprints of Neithana appeared—dark blue overlaid with bright red. They were familiar and yet not, detailing the old part of a city that he’d thought buried and forgotten.

Classified up until now, apparently.

With a jolt, O’Neill realised that he was looking underground network of pipes and tunnels that had existed long before the original Korros catastrophe. Yet another part of the complicated history of Neithana he hadn’t been privy to, a stinging reminder of just how deep SG-1 had fallen under the meddling, sinister agendas of the Administration and the opposing factions.

But his fury was tempered by the understanding that his own teammates in the here and now, were just soldiers who did their jobs and listened to orders.

No, elite soldiers, veterans in their own right, he corrected himself.

Their complicity—if he could even call it that—wasn’t intentional; neither did they have to justify the decisions that came from the top, just as the military back on Earth functioned at optimum when people asked how high they were supposed to jump and pretty much trusted the top brass to do their thing.

It was as much a comfort as it was a fucking load of bullshit, as he had come to learn.

Never had Jack been so torn between his loyalties. Nor had he found himself in such a state where he had to even question it—to SG-1, to Carter, the USAF, to this team who’d called him leader for so short a time. To these friendships formed despite the implanted identity and memories that’d made a mockery of these undeniable bonds.

The automated voice kept piling the details on, oblivious to his roiling emotions.

“Your orders are to pursue the perpetrators still at large. Comb through every piece of evidence and report any anomaly. Deliver the targets dead or alive by any means possible.”

The Administration was gearing up for an all-out war with a fringe-terrorist group that it had for too long, flicked aside as pesky environmentalists with more bluster than bite. Beyond the political rhetoric of needing to keep the peace and the safety of the citizens, they were throwing all their resources behind eliminating this group in a desperate bid to secure total control.

The holographic image flicked off as the main lights came back on with a loud buzz. The red screen and a blinking cursor were all that remained on the wall.

A tense silence remained.

O’Neill eyed the rest of the team and turned his eyes on Cuinn. His resignation as team leader hadn’t been officially finalised on paper, yet Cuinn couldn’t have been a more capable leader in all ways but one.

The sudden, bloodthirsty need for revenge, now validated by the Administration’s orders, thrummed through his veins. They had been responsible for Carter’s plight and like some miracle that had fallen into his lap, carte blanche had been given to the counter-insurgency forces to start the hunt.

It was akin to unclipping the leash off a hungry Rottweiler taunted with a piece of meat that’d dangled in front of its nose for days.

He caught a split second’s worth of a cutting grin on Cuinn’s face before it dropped behind a mask of neutrality.

“Mission accepted.”

His thumbprint sealed the order as he stepped back for Cuinn to take point.

oOo

The soft screeching sounds grated in his ears.

They pinged around the sharp edges of the stalactites and bounced off the slippery surfaces of the broad, arching tunnel walls that were large enough to drive a convoy of trucks through. This was followed by the kind of silence that made his ears ring and the hair on his neck stand.

After years of insertions and missions, Jack had learned to identify with the tight knot of tension that sat deep in his back and shoulders as planning gave way to preparation and execution. The unfamiliarity of the situation was always a concern, despite the satellite images or the repetitive strategic meetings that reinforced his reference points and honed his sense of situational awareness.

The tunnels were veritable mazes and the growing sense of claustrophobia hadn’t helped his dour mood as the teams crept down yet another hole-in-the-wall type tube.

He crouched, moved through yet another opening, then raised his assault weapon immediately. His movements were quick and economical, part of some fundamental muscle memory that hadn’t been imprinted out of him.

“All clear.”

Keir’s voice over the comm confirmed that as he took point, clearing the way for the rest of the team.

“Check.”

_Rinse and repeat._

“All clear.”

The same with the next tunnel.

_Rinse and repeat._

All the while, his unease morphed and grew in this veritable maze.

They came to a forked path, half the team taking a few steps into the dead end to sweep the small space.

“There’s nothing here, Sir.” Darius reported.

“All clear.”

“Check.”

There was an entrance that served as an exit, with ventilations shafts buried so deep that he couldn’t see them and a myriad of tunnels that could leave a dying man buried for eternity because help never came. Booby-trapped tunnels weren’t out of the question either, considering this was the PPA they were up against. The vendetta that they had against the Administration made that a strong possibility and as someone who wanted to be dirt side of Earth, getting caught in this erupting civil war was the last place he needed to be.

Political domination, historical rivalries, high-stake tussles over a deadly power source, with the people, then environment and their future as collateral and pawns.

Hell, wasn’t the mindstamp process evidence enough that power plays were made with no humanitarian or moral consideration?

All of it swirled in his mind, a jumble of puzzle pieces that didn’t fit, not even with the knowledge that had been mindstamped into him. Nothing was certain here. Only the growing dread that their trip down here was probably as good as a suicide run.

“Jack, something’s not right.”

He looked at Cuinn, seeing his own worry reflected in the other man’s face.

“Yeah, I know.”

The tip of his assault weapon grazed a long stalactite, breaking off the dripping tip just as his boot crunched over an unusual pile of rubble cleanly swept to one side of the tunnel wall.

_What the fuck…?_

He cast a roving eye over the uneven ceiling, actively searching out for anomalies that would signal and caught the small blink of a red dot of some device tucked securely within a volume of ice and overhanging rock.

_Rock?_ In a man-made tunnel?

A closer look confirmed that it was not part of the structure, but merely camouflaged to—

_Goddammit._

Instinct, rather than training, took over. He slapped a clumsy finger over his comm and prayed everyone obeyed rather than questioned.

“Move! Now! Right fucking _now_!”

He heard the uneven rhythms of his own breaths, the extraordinary loud sounds of booted feet that clanged and slapped across the slippery surface.

The end of the tunnel—quite literally—was a shimmer of white light, a sign that daylight hadn’t yet faded enough for the ambient lighting to kick in.

Thankfully, the team was quick, the trust in each other absolute.

Risking a quick look behind, Jack felt a flicker of doubt.

Nothing out of place.

_Nothing. Not just yet._

“Faster! Move—”

His vision flared impossibly bright in that second.

Their emergency light sources flickered out, plunging them all into pitch darkness.

He hit the ground hard, skidding across the uneven surface as the shock wave radiated outwards, his arms coming up to protect his head at the last second.

The explosion ruptured the tense silence, engulfing the screams of the last few of the team members who were flung head-on into the far end of the tunnel. Shattered icicles and sharp, pulverised rock fragments rushed upwards, embedding in his skin through his protective gear.

There was a split second of utter silence in the aftermath, before some movement and low curses registered.

His teammates. Who were either alive or unconscious. Or dead.

A cursory check of his own body revealed no damaging injuries, which was in itself a damn miracle. As for the shrapnel, well, Jack could ignore that.

Mentally remapping the route out, he fumbled through his tactical vest and found the small torch that hadn’t budged from its snug resting place and clicked it on.

Part of the tunnel had collapsed under the force of the blast, though the good news was that they’d somehow, barely gotten past the blast radius before the explosive went off.

That meant fewer casualties, with a relatively clear route back to the entry point, though the bad news meant that this particular route they’d chosen to scope out was permanently inaccessible.

The numbing shock faded as quickly as it’d come, adrenaline flooding Jack’s veins to the point where he managed to stand and haul some prone bodies off the ground.

Cuinn, at the front of the line, had righted himself and was already barking instructions into the comm, asking for a sitrep.

The affirmatives echoed through his comm, voices already calling out the casualties and the extent of injuries.

“We lost Alby.”

Keir’s sombre interjection had him hanging his head as he stifled the urge to drive his fist into the sharp edges of the stalactites to blunt the sudden pain.

_Fuck._

He’d liked that kid. Quite a lot actually. Liked the eagle-eyed eagerness and the calmness he brought to the team. Even appreciated the fresh-faced enthusiasm that hadn’t yet been worn down by the fatigue that years of covert work brought.

And fuck whoever it was for needlessly snuffing out another life.

Sure, they’d all known what they were getting into when they signed up for a place in the counter-insurgency forces. But loss was harder to take in a brotherhood forged in trial and fire. Jack had lived it in the Special Forces, then in SG-1 and for a better part of a year, with these people who were no less important to him.

But this…this was abominable.

Collateral damage caused because of expediency and warring agendas that ended up taking out too many innocents, who always ended up the greatest losers in these tussles. Not that this was in any way a huge revelation, but it’d always lingered at the back of his mind after years of military service, where he’d done nothing but convince himself that he was following orders while he left moral ruminations to the top brass that gave them.

Years of infiltrating enemy territory had merely made him impervious to these arguments, yet there was nothing like soldier deaths that hit too close to home because they were people he’d known, forged tight friendships with…and even felt for.

Like Alby…and Carter. Maybe Teal’c and Daniel too. And the dozens of others whose names back on Earth that would always stay in his memory.

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face.

What a goddamn clusterfuck.

He forced a steadying breath into his lungs, looking at the damage that the explosion had caused—and marvelled at the unbelievable luck that had most of them scurrying out mostly intact.

Still, they’d been outplayed so thoroughly that they’d barely managed to escape the damn tunnels.

Most likely, they’d received wrong intel, probably from a compromised source. Or from an inside source which wasn’t entirely trustworthy. And here they were, caught in a shit storm of which no one really knew the head or tail.

Cuinn’s voice broke through his fury, signalling that the sitrep was complete.

“Clear the site. Assemble at point of entry.”

With much difficulty, he helped the rest to clear the worst of the blast, supporting those who needed the help, then stopped just before their infiltration point.

Cuinn’s jaw was tight with fury as Jack had ever seen it, his fingers already pressed to the comm in his ear.

“We’ve a change in orders. Head back to the city using the fastest route possible.”

The confusion was obvious, and the explanation was anything but.

“Just got word. Chaos in the city. Multiple explosions across several points near the centre, suspected PPA uprising. Calder’s dead. Immediate imposition of martial law.”

The shock was a palpable force, but more likely due to Cuinn’s sudden announcement rather than the type associated with an outpouring of grief for a fallen leader.

Cuinn didn’t have to say what they were all thinking. With the vacuum that that Calder left, hell knew that anything was possible now and whether it swung in the favour of Administration or in that of the PPA’s, shit had just hit the ceiling.

Civil war had broken out.


	23. In between the lines

They were ghosts now.

Living, breathing ghosts. And Sam preferred it that way.

The tactical retreat had done them a bit of good. The one good thing about people thinking that you were dead and gone, was that it allowed you to slip between cracks and manipulate data with none being the wiser, she thought.

The collated news reports that Teal’c and Daniel had managed to amass over the past couple of days all pointed to the general consensus that the most recent Korros disaster had taken out a yet undetermined number of people, both friend and foe alike.

That had, fortunately, left them to their own devices, as hoods, disguises and a penchant for mischief that coloured outside the lines of Neithanan law helped in their search for temporary sites of operation, which was at present, an unoccupied office in a dilapidated building near enough the last known location of the Stargate but far enough to avoid detection.

She’d cobbled together enough machinery to get outdated comm pads working, scrounged from technological dumpsters in the outskirts of the city and picked up old weapons from an old military base that wouldn’t hopefully misfire when used.

But they’d managed somehow.

They’d moved, slowly and painfully every few hours, from dilapidated storage houses to abandoned buildings to equipment dumpsites, each short trip leading to the accumulation of spare parts that surprisingly yielded an increasingly complex array of weapons that Sam never thought would have been so carelessly tossed away.

Doing so with multiple injuries was difficult. Staying awake with a multitude of them was near impossible.

Yet having Teal’c and Daniel alongside was a morale boost that reminded her of the bonds that held a team together. They’d helped, reforming the family that as Thera, she’d never known she’d had and lost. They made her feel less powerless, less in the iron-grip of an alien race determined to destroy each other because of a stupid, precious mineral that was touted to save their world.

Only one other was missing. The leader of SG-1, or better yet, the man that Jack O’Neill had become whom she’d learned apart from the constraints of military ranks and protocol and who had brought her, personally to every choke point physically and emotionally without even needing to try.

And with him, there came a number of memories separate from the SGC she had now, along with a never-ending stream of conflicting emotions that was too difficult to compartmentalise when everything went quiet. Because that was where the regret and the longing came in; they were brittle and sharp and couldn’t easily be plastered over by her repetitive use of the words ‘Sir’ or ‘Colonel’.

Sam looked upwards, catching her own distorted reflection in the frosted glass windows. It matched the current reality they were in—misshapened and disjointed, out of whack.

“Done. Just a hundred more to go.”

A loud click delivered her back to the present as Daniel tossed aside the screwdriver and lifted the small frequency jammer that he’d been working on.

She gave him a wry but approving grin, then picked up the piece of reconditioned junk that he’d just helped fix.

“That’s looking pretty good, Daniel. We might make an engineer out of you yet.”

He threw her an amused look, then ruined it with a loud yawn. “That’s your fantasy. I think I’ll stick to ancient languages and old stones.”

“You should get some rest.”

He scoffed. “Says the pot to the kettle.”

And she could sleep when she was dead.

“I’ll get some shuteye when Teal’c returns.”

Daniel shuffled to the corner where their temporary sleeping cots were set up.

“Sure, but I’m beat.”

For a minute there, she was tempted to give in.

The lack of sleep _was_ getting to her. But fatigue and exhaustion were old friends, reminders of the days—both at the SGC and here—when the lab was her home and markers of every little sign of progress as each computer hack brought them closer and closer to their ultimate goal.

Various identity cards littered the floor, their codes deactivated and erased from hard drives after a one-and-done use. A series of targeted pickpocketing and clothes stealing had gone a long way in getting Daniel and Teal’c into places where only janitors and building contractors could access.

On the far end of the room, a temporary generator kept the holographic map of the city centre in view, prominently highlighting the ventilation shifts and the viewports of the buildings around the Administration.

They blinked yellow and red once they were fixed in place as the cleaning carts and crew went through these areas, depositing more than the usual replacements of toiletries and spare parts. The latest explosive device that Teal’c and Daniel had planted mere hours ago was tagged blue on screen.

Remote detonators sat untouched on the shelf behind her, as did the array of blasters and makeshift grenades. Her own tablet, already configured with the necessary blueprints for the command centre that housed the Stargate, was charged and ready.

This was doohickey haven, as O’Neill would say.

On a smaller screen, various heat signatures registered, matched with the DNA structures and the names of O’Neill’s counter-insurgency team members, a feed that she managed to hijack from their operations command centre a mere day ago with their newfound equipment.

The feed was intermittent, but enough for them to track where O’Neill could be at any point in time.

And they were at present, at some undisclosed location that her trackers hadn’t managed to penetrate. The best guess was that they were underground, or in some place where signals were blocked or carefully calibrated to a frequency that the equipment couldn’t tune into.

The datapad blinked red and buzzed once, signalling the presence of an intruder.

The pointer that Sam had been holding as she traced possible routes on the pad to map a way out of their hiding place to the Stargate flew up and skidded onto the ground. A wire that she’d been wrangling flew loose onto the ground, joined by a crimper and several splitter connectors.

In the corner, Daniel scrambled to his feet and lunged for the weapon that he’d left by his side.

Together, they moved into the shadows behind the doorway and waited, their weapons as the barely-discernable footsteps got louder and louder.

The datapad went silent, the red flashing light changing to green, leaving a ghoulish shimmer on the opposite wall.

The doorway swung open as a hooded figure stepped through.

Sam heaved a breath of relief, her nerves settling.

Teal’c slid the hood over his head as he disabled the makeshift security alarms that she’d done up as a perimeter warning system.

“Major Cart—”

A deep rumble shook the building, sweeping through the office space hard enough to send loose parts to the floor.

She hit the deck, Daniel and Teal’c following suit.

The lamps above them swayed and rattled, the force of the shock dislodging one in the process. It splintered, the bulb fizzing out as stray sparks showered Sam’s cluttered workspace.

The rippling stopped as quickly as it started, the abruptness of the—

Another rumble, closer this time. A subtle, metallic scent filled the air. Leaking coolant and gas from the climate control systems.

Several alarms chirped out their warning, silenced mid-beep when a shockwave—somewhat closer this time—hit again.

She hunkered up on her knees unsteadily, cautiously, then to her feet, taking in the slight damage.

Short-circuiting equipment, a messier floor but more importantly, no injuries that incapacitated.

They were non the worse for wear.

“What the hell was that?” Daniel demanded with narrowed eyes as several points on the hologram blinked orange. “Earthquake? An explosion?”

She was already looking at the datapads that were showing the some security systems of the neighbouring buildings.

The news headlines scrolled down the side of the screens at a breakneck pace, a running commentary so quick that it that outpaced human comprehension. Some keywords however, were easy to catch.

_Coordinated attacks. Assassination. Chaos in quadrants 7 and 8. PPA deemed responsible._

“Multiple explosions in various parts of the entertainment quadrant,” she confirmed grimly, fingers already working on a datapad that was responding way too slowly for their purposes. “Calder’s been assassinated.”

Instinct had her checking for O’Neill’s team and his whereabouts immediately after, though the damn screen merely showed blips of the team’s stuttering progress through several well-known subterranean chambers used only for training. Their trajectory suggested they were headed towards the city, towards the Administration quadrant.

To regroup. Possibly to defend the inner circles of the upper echelons of society. To close ranks around those still clinging precariously onto power. Because after the blasts, who knew what kind of ground troops the PPA might send?

But O’Neill was okay. He was alright.

She mumbled that short phrase like a mantra until it sank in.

The relief was blinding and in a way, shocking.

Just knowing that O’Neill was living to fight another day assuaged the regret and the guilt that wore on her, even though this meant that their plan was suddenly a goddamn mess, made on the basis of so many perceived outcomes and assumptions that would have them at best, simply running for their lives and hoping that their asses weren’t on fire when crunch time came.

She hadn’t been there to watch his six, to help save his ass—something that she’d learned early on about the bonds that held SG-1 together, as well as a separate, special one that had her tied to O’Neill in some way.

But maybe that wasn’t even enough. Not when she’d retreated because the job and its rules were where she felt the safest. It’d made her as much as a damned coward just as she was a dedicated soldier.

For someone who had, quite literally, already followed her commanding officer into Netu, she’d long gone above and beyond the call of duty. Every bit of attraction between them—and the distant notion of anything coming out of it—had been as hypothetical as the theories on interstellar travel she worked on daily. Until they weren’t, here, in the freezing wasteland of some planet caught in a political struggle light years from Earth.

The truth that dawned—at the most inconvenient time—as the broken pieces of the salvaged tech lay around her, was that she’d needed to crane her neck past her own issues where rank and duty had in fact, become a yoke around her neck.

She and O’Neill…maybe they’d never come back from this. Not when their relationship had changed in such a fundamental way after the mindstamp that had all but erased everything except their personalities.

Maybe there’d be a court martial awaiting them, although extenuating circumstances could well be cited in their reports.

Or maybe they wouldn’t live to see another day, just as they were getting too close to home.

With this realisation, she felt as though she was standing at the edge of the world, unbalanced, and not just because of the rumbles that had made the ground move under her feet.

Plans were fickle, fluid things.

And Sam was learning that courage was always going to be needed in areas that she never thought was lacking.

Maybe, just maybe, when this was all over, when they found O’Neill, things could be different between them. Or maybe—

Another tip, another tilt.

If she was still stuck in limbo where O’Neill was concerned, she sure as hell wasn’t going to be stuck here as things fell apart around them.

The rumbling continued, the aftershock of what felt like an earthquake hammering the soles of her feet as the building shook.

Sam looked at Daniel and Teal’c, the consensus grim and unspoken.

They scrambled for their daypacks, already heavy with some grenades, weapons and rations.

She’d barely grabbed her datapad, slung her assault rifle and pack over her shoulder before she felt Teal’c heavy hand around her waist, lifting her up so that most of her weight leaned on him as they half-limped out the entrance.

Clearly, the initial plan that she, Daniel and Teal’c had come up with of methodically tracking O’Neill, planting distractions all over the city and then making a grab for him while they activated and cleared the way to the Stargate wasn’t going to cut it any longer.

And just like that, it looked as though they were going to fly by the seat of their pants. Again.

They took the transporter down halfway, then ran down the stairs the last eight storeys, every step more painful than the last.

The sounds of deliberate slaughter and chaos rang closer, unlike anything she’d ever heard before. Her hand tightened involuntarily on the bannister. She fixed her eyes on the last few steps, putting her focus on keeping upright, even with Teal’c’s support.

They stumbled out the front doors and staggered to a halt.

Utter devastation.

From where they stood, the blasts had caused several buildings to collapse, the rubble of skyscrapers burying major pedestrian pathways and roads and cutting off all air transport routes as internal shuttles halted mid-air until the electricity grid was restored.

The noise grated. Wails, moans and shouts interspersed with the jarring sounds of sirens and running engines, adding to the decibel count and the general confusion.

Teal’c huddled against her, then pressed Daniel into the small alcove of the building. Amidst the panicked screams and the dust-white faces, they could have well been out in the open and no one would have given them a second look.

The route to the Stargate was open. Relatively speaking, of course. The timing was perfect. Anarchy was their advantage. They had the city blueprints and the route mapped out to the gate. With enough firepower of their own, they could create even more distractions and no one would be the wiser not when everyone was scrambling to make sense of the carnage.

She swiped the screen again, visually superimposing O’Neill’s location onto their own route to the Administrative quarter.

There was no denying that her urge to get back to the safety of the SGC was overwhelming. To call for reinforcements, to retreat first, then come up with a sensible tactical plan to retrieve the Colonel were rules hard stamped on paper. Yet leaving no man behind was what he’d drilled into her early on, a path that he himself had stayed his entire career—all well and good, until it came to his own well-being, because he’d never had a damn problem asking the rest to leave him be if push really came to shove.

“We cannot leave. O’Neill is somewhere out there.”

It was as though Teal’c had read her thoughts. Drops of sweat had formed on the Jaffa’s forehead, but his words, as always, were delivered with unflappable calm.

The datapad in her hands suddenly felt heavy. The program that tracked O’Neill’s and his team’s progress had frozen, showing their last known location, which was somewhere near the Administrative quarter, but that had been minutes ago.

Sam swallowed hard. “We aren’t, Teal’c. But we should move still. Get as close to the gate as we can.”

He looked at her a long moment, then nodded in acquiescence.

oOo

Progress was slow, yet the endgame was in sight.

So close, yet so far.

The crown jewel of the Administration which Calder called his stomping grounds was still standing, a plume of smoke billowing from the bottom of the tower. But it was still a speck in the distance, the flickering lights of the destroyed walkways in the quarter acting as indicators of how much they had to cover.

Daniel’s hand was heavy on her shoulder, steadying her limping stride as they edged past the detritus, then ducked under a pile of rubble, just in time to avoid ploughing into the advancing troops that had flooded the quadrant.

The sudden displacement of air followed by the roar of a jet-like engine had her flinching instinctively. Sam looked up just in time to see several shuttles taking off before realising that they’d landed smack in the middle of the Administration’s transport hub, now piled full with counter-insurgency vehicles and barricades.

Slowly, she peeked over, edging past the rubble to see a commander jump out of a moving vehicle and order the rest of his soldiers to vantage points. They scattered immediately, before a second vehicle moved in to shuffle shell-shocked civilians out of their newly-established perimeter.

A hundred paces away, a line of hostages knelt on the ground bound, blindfolded and gagged as the patrol troops rounded more up.

_What the hell was going on?_

Sam fell back down into a crouch, the aches in her body loudly reminding her that she wasn’t at a hundred percent.

Their route forward had just become even more complicated.

To their left was the decimated central park, once sprawling and the pride of the Administration.

To their right and centre, a dead end, impassable because of the sinkhole that had swallowed a major junction and an entire row of shops.

Beside her, Daniel scrubbed a hand down his face. Fatigue was scored on every feature, the dark circles underneath his eyes more prominent than when he’d tried to bunk down earlier.

“We did talk about something called a distraction.” He pointedly tapped the pack that he carried. “You know what they say. If you can’t beat them, join them.”

It was tempting.

But that would use up their supplies for a route that might not need any explosives to be cleared after all.

“There is another way, Daniel Jackson.”

Teal’c indicated the charred remains of the vegetation that were still smoking on the park grounds, that was also becoming the temporary resting place of the equally charred and burnt corpses that the aid workers were uncovering.

Trepidation warred with the instinctive need to run. Sam swallowed the fear as best as she could.

“Let’s go.”

She swayed suddenly, her knees buckling only slightly before she felt Daniel and Teal’c on opposite sides, heaving her upright as they crept towards the edge of the park.

Several yards in, the stench of burnt flesh had her gagging and her eyes watering.

She whipped up the hem of her shirt, taking wheezing, shallow breaths through them. Then mindlessly brought a foot over the other, barely missing the blackened remains of a woman with long, auburn hair in an Administration official uniform.

They moved deeper in where the smoke was thicker, rapidly disintegrating any sense of direction she might have had possessed.

Teal’c had already gone ahead, scouting, his steps sure and silent.

He turned back suddenly, drawing his weapon and diving for them as laser fire sprayed the ground near them.

She felt the heat of the laser blast near her cheek as she and Daniel rolled and bounced to the ground as the whine of a reloading weapon followed.

“Sam!”

Daniel’s voice came from very far away, filtered through a layer of disorientation she couldn’t seem to shake off.

She reached for her own pistol, only to drop it when she felt the agonising burn of a laser blast wound on her calf.

The flesh was seared black, cauterised, still smoking.

The pain rendered her speechless, kept her from getting up, shunting the rules of combat straight out of her head.

The reassuring weight of her weapon was suddenly gone, presumably taken by Daniel, who was now aiming at shadowy shapes that were coming through the clearing.

The whines of returning laser fire sounded.

“Teal’c! Daniel! Stop!”

The vague, human-like shapes morphed into figures striding towards them in hazmat gear and poor-vision goggles, their uniforms black and orange, embossed with the bold counter-insurgency forces logo on the neckline.

Assault rifles were slung over their shoulders, all pointed at them. Teal’c and Daniel kneeled with their hands up, their backpacks ripped away from them.

One of the soldiers broke away from the group.

They were speaking, she realised. Garbled, loud and ringing. Through their masks, most likely in code speak.

_Suspicious activities…Thera Arann…Dead or alive…_

“Take them to Cuinn.”

That voice brooked no argument.

Through hazy vision, she felt, rather than saw, the loud clink of electronic cuffs slapping onto her wrists and ankles as she was forcibly hauled upwards and out of the graveyard of smoke and ashes.

 


	24. Home Free

The world, as Neithana knew, had burned to a crisp.

Some wailed. Others screamed.

A hundred more picked their way through the debris sightlessly, as the abyss started them in the face. The air, already pungent with the fumes of the relentless burns, had grown even more oppressive with the stink of despair. The smoke had blocked out the city’s ambient lighting, plunging some quarters into pitch darkness.

When they’d arrived at the edge of the city, Jack realised that the insurgents had gotten further—way further—than anyone could have ever conceived. And in doing do, inadvertently revealed that their reach into the internal affairs of the Administration had been stronger and longer than expected.

He, Cuinn and the rest of the guys had emerged out of the tunnels into this brand of hell, whisked along in some Administration shuttle and straight into the fray where the heat of the flames still seared his flesh beneath his tactical wear.

It was a scene straight out of some post-apocalyptic movie, only that there was no phoenix rising from its ashes. Lost souls wandered aimlessly, misery, blood and shock slashed across their faces.

They’d gotten to work straight away like the soldiers they were, despite being partially stunned from the explosion that had taken out Alby. At this stage, emergency management was the first priority, as they doubled up as first responders as well as counterinsurgency forces.

Form that perimeter. Restore order. Look for the injured. Shoot the suspicious bastards.

If it were only that simple.

He paused to watch the ongoing rescue efforts, his own breathing shallow as the acrid stench of burnt flesh couldn’t be scrubbed out of the atmosphere despite the efficiency of the air purifiers built into the city walls.

Their city, their politics.

Their damn mess to clean up, to be honest, if Jack were to take the heartlessly moral high road.

In a way, he felt selfishly glad that he still had a goal—as distant as it seemed for now—to accomplish. That Earth still stayed within reach, as long as the Stargate was near.

And it was.

Yet he’d been part of the fabric of this society for a while too, his coerced integration into their lifestyle and this planet notwithstanding. All he felt now was more pity for the innocents who were as always, collateral damage. That latent anger at the injustice done to SG-1 by the Administration still simmered, but he’d come to terms with it enough to know it was possible to compartmentalise just enough to get the job done.

He shook his head and cast another grim look at their newly-established perimeter and campsite, feeling the twinge of guilt for already resetting his mind to what needed to be done in order to get himself and the rest of his team out.

Jack trudged over to Cuinn, who was surveying the scene with a dispassionate look in his eyes.

“World’s gone to fucking hell,” he ventured.

When Cuinn didn’t reply, he tracked the other man’s unmoving gaze.

Some soldiers were trussing up a group of delinquent looters, pushing them facedown on the concrete, ignoring their jibes and taunts. The loudest and most disruptive one went still when he was given a hard blow to the head and the others stopped struggling the moment their cuffs were slapped on them.

No matter the place or the time, this scene was all too familiar. The understanding struck him time and again each time he looked at the faces of the soldiers who’d returned from deployment, broken in ways both physical and intangible. Wherever they stood, the consequences of war rode them hard and they internalised it the only way they knew how.

The sharp footfalls of the hazmat-wearing officer, accompanied by the shuffling sounds of feet that couldn’t quite walk upright had Cuinn and him turning around.

Through the smoke, he could only make out the vague shapes of several silhouettes slowly crossing the clearing.

“Parcel delivery,” Cuinn murmured as they finally came closer, emerging one by one out of the smoke like the fragmented pieces of his life he hadn’t even known he’d grieved so deeply for.

Three people, two with shoulders slumped, the last one still walking proud and tall. Their faces came into sight little by little, stealing the breath from his lungs.

The sight was like a battering ram to his head and a hard sock in the gut.

The world narrowed to mere sensations as disbelief and joy tussled for dominance: from the rushed beating of his heart echoed in his ears, to the slight tremble of his fingers against the assault weapon he carried, to the distant rumbling voices of the yelling soldiers.

Even those faded when clarity finally took hold of his misfiring synapses and the present reality unfolded enough for him to register that there were three faces which he never thought he’d see again.

Carter, Daniel and Teal’c—the rest of his team appearing as though a magician had conjured them from the ruins of the smoking debris of Neithana—staggering to a stop before Cuinn, whose pinched expression told him all he needed to know.

_Carter, Daniel and Teal’c._

Dishevelled, dirty, with streaks of soot on their faces, but very much alive and kicking.

“Jack?”

Daniel’s raised, hoarse voice cut through the rising numbness. Carter and Teal’c wore similar expressions on their faces, though speech was evidently taking a longer time coming to them, as it did him.

His rank, more softly whispered, made his eyes snap from Daniel’s to Carter’s. “Sir.”

There had been too many nights where variants of this particular scene played out in his head. Of him and Carter, of him and the team. But that fantasy had slowly been eroded under the weight of Carter’s apparent death until the bleak finality of losing SG-1 sharpened into what he knew now as reality. Between Earth and this frozen planet, the utter misery that he felt knowing he’d lost his anchors of support and hope, only to have them given back to him once more in a split second left him just…needing air.

_Carter, Daniel and Teal’c._

And if this was yet another mind fuck by the Administration—

“O’Neill.”

It took a few tries before he got his own throat to work, just as he remembered that they had an audience.

“Good to see you, too. All of you,” he told them quietly then turned to Cuinn. “Uncuff them.”

“Not quite yet, Jack.” The distrust in Cuinn’s eyes was hard to take in. “Thera Arann. Declared dead. It’s a miracle that she has just turned up here, alive. The Administration would want her detained for questioning.”

The sudden clicks of the safety catches releasing from various weapons weren’t sounds he wanted to hear. Like some damn recruit, he’d missed it all, caught up as he was in the violent throes of shock when the rest of SG-1 had materialised out of nowhere.

The team and Cuinn had them surrounded, their weapons already raised to fire.

With him, Carter, Daniel and Teal’c dead in the centre.

Admittedly, this wasn’t most expected or emotional of reunions, but his loyalty to SG-1 and to Earth had never been in question after it came to light that Jonah Tuvall was really Jack O’Neill with a different cover.

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” he conceded. “But I’ve never lied to you.”

Cuinn’s brows were furrowed deeply. “You just failed to mention their names.”

He tried for flippant, though the sudden, crushing feeling of getting back into a corner clawed at him.

“Didn’t think it was that important when I told you the other details. I’ll be frank with you, Cuinn. Before you guys,” he gestured behind him with a small wave of his hand, “these people—Carter, Daniel and Teal’c—had my back. And now we’re here. You know that we want to go home, that we need the Stargate. You know the story.”

Tension coiled in his shoulders as his counterinsurgency team tightened the circle around them. His finger itched to pull the trigger of his own weapon, but common sense rather than ingrained military training said that they’d all be dead by laser fire in a fraction of an instant before he could even squeeze a round out.

Cuinn and the team would easily get on without him. In their own way, the counterinsurgency teams recognised dedication, loyalty and courage—all the qualities that the exemplary soldier had—as the cornerstones of their operations and as much as he’d liked being part of their team, the time to sever this connection had abruptly come.

“So there’s the easy way and the hard way.” He broke away from Cuinn and looked everyone in the team in the eye, trying not to look or feel like the deserter they already thought he was, who switched loyalty at the toss of a dime. “Your choice. And I’m sorry that you have to make one.”

From the periphery, he saw Carter clench her left fist. Somehow she’d managed to retrieve some kind of device from a hidden pocket, ready to toss it should the situation call for it.

A small flicker of movement amped up his already-tense muscles.

On the other side, Teal’c had stiffened quite visibly, placing himself in Jaffa fighting mode.

Desperation gnawed at him as the seconds passed interminably. In this impromptu standoff, had they come this far only to be let down by the very team he’d served with as Jonah Tuvall?

After what seemed like an eon, the miniscule tilt of Cuinn’s head had the rest of the team stepping back and the cuffs from their prisoners’ wrists miraculously releasing, though none of them had walked over to SG-1’s side. Their packs were tossed in front of their boots, the contents bulging at the sides.

The men’s switch in loyalties was as clear as daylight.

He was now the outsider, the one who didn’t belong in their team any longer as much as he didn’t belong on this planet.

Jack accepted that. Gratefully, even, with a little regret.

He was simply happy that Cuinn hadn’t chosen to engage in a confrontation that was clearly going to be a one-sided affair.

A quick, curt nod from Cuinn said it all before the rest of the team slinked backwards, back into the tapestry of smoke and shadows. Unspoken words passed between them, a silent form communication established through months of work, disaster and camaraderie before Cuinn turned and disappeared into the morass of debris.

Leaving him only with his team.

_His_ team.

For the first time in months, he faced the rest of SG-1.

Against all odds, they’d made it.

And Jack found himself bereft of words and actions.

What he _felt_ warred with what _needed_ to be done and to celebrate this moment was untimely and most likely inappropriate. The small allowance of time that Cuinn had given them was a merely temporary pass. There was just enough time to get out of sight, to do what they had to do, while Cuinn’s soldiers turned a blind eye and held back their warrants for arrest.

But he wanted a minute—selfishly perhaps—to brand this moment in his memory and to put that aside, to slide back into the role as SG-1’s leader. It was as difficult as hell, damn bad timing and duty beckoned—

In a blur of movement, the softness of a warm body was pressed hard against his in a hug that effectively halted his errant thoughts midway. Carter’s arms were tight around his neck, her blond strands in his face and nose.

Time stopped again. Relief threatened to send him to his knees as he forced himself to slow down, to focus.

“Carter.”

Her grip on him tightened for a moment, then she pulled back, a ton of emotions in her eyes. “Sir.”

Jack could only nod in acknowledgement, too choked up to say anything more, yet wordlessly asking her to leave everything else for later. Nothing but SG-1 and the mission to locate the Stargate mattered now.

But before he knew it, another pair of hands had gently shoved Sam aside, engulfing him in a tighter, brotherly hug.

“Good to see you again, Jack.”

Wet heat pricked the back of his eyelids, which he tried to blink away. “You have no idea, Daniel.”

Then came the heavy weight of a hand on his shoulder. Jack recognised the Jaffa’s touch, realising then how much he’d missed that steadying, stalwart support.

“You too, Teal’c.” He took another second, consciously switching modes. “But let’s save the group hug for later. Right now, let’s blow this joint.”

The datapad was already out in Daniel’s hands, the display flickering to life in a swirl of orange and black. “The straightest path to the gate is in the other direction.”

A slight breeze cleared the air momentarily before stilling once more, giving them a brief but invaluable moment of visibility.

Jack knew this quarter all too well. But it was unrecognisable after the PPA’s sneak attacks and where there used to be vast, underground links between buildings, chances were they were inaccessible from where they were, which left them nothing but enough open space to become target practice for soldiers ordered to shoot on sight when martial law kicked in.

Maybe this was going to be yet another futile effort. Maybe they were risking their necks for the greatest prize to come even as failure would strike when the gate was just within their reach.

It made him think of all the bad bets he’d made in his life—times when they’d brought him low—and how they’d inevitably led him to where he was now. The heady certainty that he felt earlier had disappeared, leaving a calm _nothingness_ that strangely enough, kept him going.

Jack spared another glance at SG-1, the burden of having reached the point of no return suddenly heavy on his shoulders.

“Time to go.”

oOo

The fatalities mounted rapidly.

The press of bodies came like a wave, advancing, then retreating. They were all panicked shouts, flailing limbs and hysterical shrieks, making it harder and harder to avoid the crowds and bypass the barricades that the troops had set up.

They picked their way through the available spaces, using chaos as their only advantage. Clearing the first block with agonising care, she could finally make out the unusual slant of the building that stood a few hundred metres away.

Sam stumbled once more and cursed the gimpy leg. Only instead of Teal’c sure grip on her arm, she felt O’Neill’s reassuring touch and hold on her.

“I’m alright, Sir.”

It was automatic to use his rank, to slip into their default roles even on a planet where they’d spent a better part of a year, though at the moment or at least in her head, they were anything but.

He nodded once but didn’t look convinced.

Daniel’s and Teal’c presence anchored her, though it was really O’Neill who pulled those threads of their personalities together and made them tick.

Sam wanted to shout, to cry at the pain that shot through her leg, but even that took strength. So she did neither, but merely concentrated on putting a foot over the other as she balanced both the datapad and the pack and the strap of her own weapon on her shoulders.

The whine of laser fire had them automatically ducking behind the remnants of what would have been Neithana’s stock exchange.

O’Neill slid carefully over the debris and returned the shot. From an opposite pile of debris, Teal’c and Daniel did the same.

The number of civilians was dwindling as they were hoarded towards the medical evacuation setup. Those who remained were considered hostiles, to be shot on sight. The Stargate was merely a few blocks away but that distance, as short as it was, proved excruciating.

They’d chosen to take cover behind some ballast for now, watching the flow of movement in and out of the Administration building.

Run, hide, shoot, wait.

It was a pattern they’d cottoned on to when it appeared as though short bursts of movement were the only way they could get themselves covering that daunting distance. Forget the most optimal route that she’s initially calculated. They simply took what they could find, and tried not to get shot at while they were at it.

Her knees buckled as they tore over the debris of a crumbling building, the terrain of a once-pristine city changing with every step they took. Her eyes watered, the reactive tears failing to flush the dust that painted the whole place in a numbing shade of grey.

“Stop.”

But it was barely a minute before O’Neill had them up and moving again. She shifted her weight and struggled to get up, then felt his solid grip on her again, his arm tight around her waist as he practically lifted her off her feet to zigzag around the corner to bring them even closer to the gate. Together, they stepped out, ducked again and hurried in a near crouch to the next point of shelter, following Teal’c and Daniel who took point.

But they were so close now. So close that they could see the side entrances of the grand headquarters of the Administration, blocked off by what looked like a garrison of armed PPA guards.

Another burst of laser fire came through the barricades that the debris naturally formed, so close this time, she swore she could feel the heat of those bolts singeing her face.

O’Neill brought them down hard, rolling to his side, as Teal’c and Daniel disappeared briefly behind their makeshift barricade. The blast from O’Neill’s weapon sounded, followed by a gurgling creak that signalled a low charge.

He ducked down again, checked his weapons and grimly shook his head.

“I’m nearly out.”

She perused his face, surprised to see cuts, bruises and scrapes that she hadn’t noticed before. Clearly he’d been in a skirmish before SG-1 crashed the party.

Distractions. They needed distractions that would clear the path, add to the confusion.

She scrambled to pull the straps of the pack on her shoulders. “I’ve some makeshift flash bang grenades.”

He grinned. “Knew there was a reason I kept you around, Carter.”

It felt good to laugh a little with him.

A quick hand signal to Teal’c and Daniel and they were off again, rounding a corner until what used to be the official landing platform that led straight into the gardens and the walkways of the city’s pride and joy came into sight. Yet high above, a small part of Neithana’s circular shield had been torn open, the noxious fumes from the external environment leaking in just as the smoke from the burning city vented out.

Between the charred trees and the impassable streets, the vistas leading to the headquarters were obscenely coiffed and undamaged. Left deliberately so by the PPA rebels as a symbol of their complete takeover of the city’s political heart.

From one of the few buildings left standing proudly amongst the ruin, shots echoed through the eerily silent area.

From the opposite side of an unknown location, someone returned fire.

Snipers.

In a deadlock.

Whether from the PPA or the counterinsurgency forces, she couldn’t tell.

Another sweep of the building caused her breath to stutter.

Somewhere near the top of the building, Calder’s mutilated body hung and swung in the fierce winds that blew through the hole in the dome.

They’d lynched the bastard.

Strung up in front of the Administration’s circular-shaped crest, Calder’s bloodied face was pulled into a grotesque parody of a circus clown through the inventive use of nails, ropes and wires. The corpse hung like a leering scarecrow, casting long shadows over the building itself of the breaking morning.

“Just when you thought you’ve seen everything,” Daniel muttered grimly behind his binoculars.

Sam forced her eyes away from Calder and onto her datapad, tamping down her revulsion.

SG-1 had no responsibility to him. Made no promises, signed no treaty, up until the point they were suddenly beholden to him as Neithanan citizens who worked diligently for the good of their planet. Right now, it was easier to think of Calder as just one more casualty in a place that was about to be blown wide open—and to leave it as that.

With a tap of the screen, the blueprints of the Administration building superimposed itself upon the location of the gate, though the sheer number of infrared shapes over the entire top floor signalled the tight control the PPA had over the command centre.

O’Neill and Teal’c ran over, doing a quick check around them as they stopped in front of her.

“Looks like we’ll have to go for an all-out approach,” she told them as Daniel leaned in. “The place is crawling with insurgents.”

O’Neill simply shifted his own assault weapon and tucked a few more handmade grenades into his vest.

“They have the place rigged. No surprise there.”

“I can’t engineer a total shut-down of the security systems.”

She quickly ran another simulation on the datapad, only to have it insisting on the same kind of results that were less than ideal. The beat of her pulse was loud in her ears as she relayed just the kind of luck they were depending on.

“The encryption is beyond me. But once we get to a terminal, we could disable several sectors and exploit weaknesses along certain faults in the building, leaving a passageway clear to the Stargate.”

Daniel grimaced. “Never thought I’d say this, but we could shoot our way through.”

“Or we could use the oldest trick in the book.” O’Neill spoke without looking at them as he scanned the horizon. There was barely-concealed glee in his tone. Maybe having the team back together was doing wonders for his mood, as it was for all of them, despite the scarcity of intel.

Despite having the odds against them yet again.

“Distractions,” O’Neill intoned, the corner of his mouth quirking. “We have a few of ‘em to clear a room at a time till we reach the gate.”

She did a quick calculation of the makeshift grenades, then recounted them twice more, trying to run several simulations in her head of when and how they’d be maximised. The grenades’ reassuring weight in her pack was a good burden to bear, as was the knowledge that the concrete opportunity to make a break for it was finally here, after it’d all blown up in their faces weeks ago.

But without the critical intel of what they’d be facing as they neared the Stargate, the only conclusion that she could come to was that any kind of calculation from here onwards was ridiculously impossible.

The truth of the matter was, they did have enough for now, if those grenades were used sparingly, which probably wouldn’t happen. In fact, they’d probably would start hauling their asses through the gate by a prayer with loads of luck on their side.

O’Neill’s wry optimism and jocular tone coaxed an involuntary smile out of her. “We may not have enough to last us that long.”

He simply shrugged. “Nothing left to lose, Carter.”

Teal’c blinked, then calmly delivered his analysis. “Indeed. It is time.”

The distance narrowed to a point as they took off, the tower looming above then the only thing in her sights.

It only took a minute to barrel through the entrance and into the expansive foyer in a hail of laser fire.

Record time, even by SG-1’s stellar standards.

A quick shift from O’Neill and a few hand signals told her all she needed to know.

Datapad in hand, Sam hurried to the locking mechanism on the side of the wall and let the malware she’d installed to their work.

Moments later, the door leading to level four to twelve slid open, letting out an ominous cloud of smoke that had been trapped in the stairwell. The noxious fumes forced themselves down her throat and watered her eyes, scattering all of them to separate corners of the foyer.

Through greyed-out vision, she saw O’Neill gesturing through the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing, heard him shouting some instructions that she couldn’t make out.

A crash sounded in the distance, the rumbling getting closer as she found herself suddenly knocked to her knees by an unknown assailant.

Her legs scissored automatically, the military’s basic training’s tactical close-combat moves taking over even when her senses were dulled.

A muffled cry and a curse came when her kicks and punches connected with flesh. Each blow drained and invigorated her, the hope of getting to the Stargate not letting up even in these dire circumstances.

A hard yank around her waist made her kick out even harder, though everything was flipped on its axis when she was flipped onto someone’s shoulder and hauled into a fireman’s carry.

“Carter! It’s me, dammit!”

Panic threatened to overwhelm everything else as her lungs wheezed. She stumbled backwards, her back hitting solid concrete. “I can’t see!”

“Sam! You’re alright, Sam! Sam!” Daniel’s frantic outburst just made it worse.

Worry was etched deep in O’Neill’s voice, the jagged rhythms of his breaths matching hers as he clutched her hands firmly. “It’ll pass, Carter.”

She blinked once, twice, finally managing to open her eyes fully as the sharp sting and the strange buzzing lessened. It hadn’t occurred to her to let go of his hand.

Before they could say anything else, the doors slid open once more. O’Neill herded them out immediately.

_Level 17._ The small print on the side of a door finally registered, blurred as they were.

They’d reached the level of the observatory—a small, circular room with glass walls that only allowed a select few to watch how the Stargate worked a level below them. From what Sam recalled of the blueprints, a small spiral staircase linked this floor to the one below.

It was silent as a tomb, which made her suspicious. The tactic that had driven them so far—evade at all costs and try not to get shot at—suddenly seemed redundant when their goal looked to be within touching distance.

They turned a corner, then another two, weapons up, until the corridor finally ended with large double doors tightly welded shut.

Frustration and annoyance laced Daniel’s voice. “This is a maze.”

Teal’c grunted in agreement. Every floor had a different layout and was as confusing as the politics that had shaped this damn planet.

O’Neill took point, suddenly stopping the rest of them with a raised, closed fist.

A quick flick of his head. “Carter.”

She hobbled forward the best she could and stuck an explosive on the joint, the memories of their arrival resurfacing, coalescing into a surreal mix of the then and now.

“Fire in the hole.”

She ducked back with the aid of O’Neill, past the edge of the wall.

The boom made the floor beneath them shudder.

A cacophony of noises rang out, like the buzzing of angry hornets suddenly released from a destroyed nest in search of vengeance.

The sound of footsteps echoed off the flooring just around the corner.

Minutes whittled down to seconds.

Unhooking the grenades, Sam stepped out to the right and tossed one of them into the path of a group of oncoming insurgents. With a flick of her wrist, the second followed the path of the first, as O’Neill and Teal’c did the same as wave after wave of insurgents bottle-necked down the short distance towards them.

The space filled with smoke once more, the resulting bangs making her ears ring.

All she could see was O’Neill yelling and wildly gesturing to the observatory that the explosive had blown wide open.

Sam tossed the last of her grenades, then ran and ducked as the shrapnel rained over her from the explosion of the device, trying to ignore the limpy gait that had long compromised her sprint speed.

Air. She needed air.

A round of laser fire flew over her head as Teal’c helpfully provided cover.

The glass-covered surfaces of the observatory revealed everything she needed to see.

From that distance, the large, grey ring stood on a platform a level below like a silent sentinel to other worlds, the sight of it as surreal as the first time she’d ever entertained the thought of interstellar travel as more than a theoretical possibility.

For a moment, she thought the gate was the product of an exhausted mind, pulling a figment from her past into this sliver of _unreality_.

She shook her head to shake those strands of cobwebs loose, then got going again. By the time she reached the spiral staircase in the corner, Daniel was already punching in the address of their first jump.

The chevrons engaged. Painfully slowly.

Yet there was still that satisfying lock of each symbol, the unique roll of the wheel that spun in turn.

With both hands gripping the bannister of the stairwell tightly, her feet finally hit the bottom rung, slipping at the last moment when a PPA crony stepped through and fired from above.

Scrambling off the stairs, she ducked around the pillar, then stood to return the shot in time to see him thud lifelessly to the ground from the upper level.

A distinctive hum buzzed through the room as the first tangible object of their previous lives came into sight.

The air seeped out of her lungs as the Stargate abruptly whooshed to life, the blue backwash of the establishing wormhole leaving a residue of the ionised particles that lifted the hairs on her neck. Tall and imposing, shimmering like a vertical body of water, the light of it so bright that she fought the urge to shield her eyes.

More footsteps along the observatory floor thundered above the hum of the stabilising wormhole.

She turned around and crouched, the weapon already raised to fire as Teal’c threw his flashbang grenade in the direction of the insurgents. At close range, the light and the blast from the bangers were dizzying.

Smoke from the mix of chemicals was making her eyes water. Again.

Without warning, the lasers pinged downwards, the heat of them barely singeing her neck as O’Neill knocked her to the ground, hard.

She was instantly on her feet as O’Neill hauled her up, dragging her in the direction of the gate’s blue light, now dimmed and fuzzy by the smoke.

“Now! Go!”

Daniel hurled himself through, followed by Teal’c.

More shots had her hitting the deck again as the pressure of O’Neill’s steadying arm lifted.

Her eyes cleared a little more.

She crawled past the last barrier—a pile of rubble and broken furniture—and eyed the rippling blue.

O’Neill was in her line of sight, closer to the gate.

But he was waiting, for her, crouched in a defensive position that put him in prime position to get shot unless she moved.

“Carter! Move!”

Fire burned in her lungs as she dove in.

But not before she’d grabbed O’Neill’s hand and thrust them both through the welcome, watery blue surface.

Milliseconds later, they rolled out onto hard, brown dirt, the heavy, humid air of a tropical planet a painful change from the ice-cold that she’d lived through for the better half of a year.

Lush, verdant green, so bright and so pigmented that it hurt her eyes as the cackles and chirps of the native wildlife echoed through the brush.

The sudden dip into tranquillity was as jarring as the sound of battle and laser fire resounding on all sides of her.

The grip she had on O’Neill’s hand stayed firm. At some point in time, letting go of him was impossible.

“Carter, you okay?”

O’Neill gently disengaged himself from her and with it went his hand on her shoulder, that steadying presence lifting like the ephemeral morning mist.

The sounds of the chevrons locking in place tore her attention away from the surrounding forest. Daniel was already dialling the DHD, for another hop through the gate.

Sam gave him a quick nod, banking the groan of pain that threatened to escape. Her legs suddenly weighed a hundred pounds as fatigue threatened to cloud her vision.

“Good. Now go. Before the natives come.”

She staggered through the wormhole, after Daniel and Teal’c, before O’Neill.

The desert brown, the arid air. So much like Abydos. The heat of the sun that burned skin, robbed your breath and turned everything to glass.

Through the heat mirage, the gate loomed high above, framed by distant mountains and ancient structures carved into them.

P3C-149.

The random number popped up suddenly, as did the faint memory of her hiking up her rucksack as they walked away from this very gate and into the unknown a lifetime ago on another routine meet-and-greet mission.

She readied herself for the next hop, her stomach already heaving from the sudden bout of nausea as her body forced itself through multiple gates after a long period of gate-travel abstinence.

The mossy, damp fog of the early morning lifted just in time to reveal the distant outline of civilisation. There, in the distance, curious villagers ran towards them, stopping only when they saw the first of the chevrons locking.

The determined glint in Daniel’s eyes as he dialled once more was the last thing that registered.

A hard hold on her shoulders and then she was flying, again, buoyed by the momentary weightlessness carried by the infinite whirl of compressed matter and time as molecules dissolved and reformed.

“Carter?” O’Neill’s voice floated through the strange roar in her ears. She latched onto it; he was the only cohesive thing among the chaos.

Nausea rose once more as the soft caress of snow—on her cheeks, nose and lips—and the freezing temperatures of the next world they transited into brought her to her knees again.

She shook her head, then attempted to stand.

“I’m fine.”

She blinked and did a double take. The cold hit before she saw the white everywhere. Just like Neithana, desolate and scarred outside the city’s dome. Cold, bleak and cheerless, where the planet’s sun would never stray far from the horizon in the prolonged winter months.

All the seasons in a matter of minutes had her body rebelling fiercely, the locking of the chevrons a distant clang in her ears. The cold was familiar, an unwelcome reminder of the temperatures of the freezing planet they’d just fled. But coming in straight from the desert, it was suddenly hard to stop the shivers.

“No, you’re not.”

The hand that pulled her up was warm and solid, the force of O’Neill’s support actually propelling her hard towards the shimmering pool of blue.

She raised her head, took a good look around as the shivers overtook her. Daniel and Teal’c had already gone through, their footprints already erased by the snow falling heavier by the minute.

“The last stop, Carter. Move your ass. Home’s just a step away.” He hustled her along in a blur of speed.

She heard the forced joviality in his words, then dug her heels in deep, resisting his pushing.

Yet what was meant to be encouragement sounded like O’Neill striving for closure and all she knew at this moment, was that she wouldn’t step through the gate without correcting that. How many times had he stood by her six, given what he’d needed to give?

“Sir, wait.” Suddenly, the effort to step closer to him was making her shake more than the cold did. “This isn’t over.”

He paused, then looked at her meaningfully as the snow swirled around them.

“No, it isn’t.”

Then he let go.

The force that hurtled her through the dizzying wormhole jostled and jarred, then spat her out in a small arc through the air and onto hard steel floor. Agony eased slightly into numbness, the sterile scent of recycled air filling her lungs again as the klaxons went berserk.

The room plunged into darkness just as the yellow emergency lights turned on and cast elongated, ghoulish shadows on the far walls.

She cracked her open her eyelids when the pain subsided marginally, only to see the pale, stunned faces of the crew of Stargate Command and the business ends of the rifles of the SFs in her face.


	25. Dialogues

“Sir?”

“Come in, please, Dr. Fraiser. And shut the door behind you. That’s a large stack of folders you’ve got there.”

“It’s been a long week, Sir. A crazy one.”

“If you had told me I would be seeing SG-1 in the flesh again, doctor, I’d be hard pressed to believe you.”

“For all purposes and intents, we gave up on SG-1, Sir. It’s all in the past right now but—”

“Let’s not dwell in the past.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But I’ll say one thing. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the moment when their old GDOs flashed across the screen.”

“Me neither. Or the moment when they came through the gate looking worse for wear.”

“…”

“General—”

“As you said, it’s been a hell of a week. Report, Dr. Fraiser.”

“Tests are only halfway done. Writing their medical reports kept me up all night and then some.”

“I’d say it’s engrossing reading, but it’s also the lives of people we know. And that’s what makes it so tough, doctor.”

“I know that all too well, Sir.”

“How’re they doing?”

“Complaining about being held against their will in the infirmary.”

“That sounds like business as usual.”

“Yes and…well, not quite, Sir—”

“Before we continue, doctor, I want you to know you can speak off the record here, if you wish to.”

“I appreciate that, General.”

“Take a seat, please. Let’s get straight to the point. How are they really doing?”

“As well as can be, given the number of psychological routines and protocols we’ve been putting them through. SG-1 has been through a difficult, traumatic process of extreme brainwashing—to use a layman’s term for it—, then made to live out their lives as completely different people. That sort of technology employed by the Administration is barely something we can understand, let alone take apart, even though it makes perfect sense in theory. And I can’t really see any good that will come out of the abuse of technology like this.”

“Agreed.”

“We’re looking at too much for one person to go through in a single lifetime, let alone a period of a few months. The prognosis was always going to be grim, but it was disturbing have it confirmed in their reports.”

“What have you and your team figured out so far?”

“Scientifically, it sounds like ground-breaking technology, though the basic idea of brainwashing isn’t. The mind stamp solution, from what SG-1 has described, is a special neurochemical process of severing, then rewiring the connections between the neurons. We’re talking about the repetitive implantation of stories and altered histories using very, very invasive means, to the extent where the alter-ego—for want of a better word—will mostly likely be permanently imprinted on a person, despite their original memories having returned. SG-1 lived these personas for months on end, even settling into them comfortably after the mind stamp process ended.”

“What kind of damage are we talking about?”

“They’ve been subjected to behavioural modification therapy taken to an extreme, though they can’t describe in detail the process. It seems like they were kept in medically-induced comas for a stretch of time as the procedure took place. Physically, their injuries are superficial. Apart from a very bad calf burn on Major Carter’s leg and a sprain, I’d say the bruises and scratches found on the others are no different from what they usually pick up after a mission through the Stargate.”

“Mentally?”

“We’ve put them through endless rounds of interviews to determine their mental and physical fitness. They’ve recounted, both individually and as a team, what they thought happened. By and large, their accounts match, though they are rather…insistent on proving that they’re not as affected as we make them out to be.”

“I suppose the Colonel and Major Carter are leading the charge on that.”

“That part of their personalities will never change, I suspect.”

“Active duty isn’t an option right now.”

“It might take a while.”

“Your professional opinion?”

“That’s the hard part, Sir. I’d err on the side of caution because psychologically, only time will tell. Our inability to determine the exact mindstamping process in turn makes it difficult to predict how deeply long-term memory alteration will affect SG-1 in the months or years to come.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“For all its fragility, the human body is amazing and the mind, even more so. It deals with trauma in ways we can’t fully understand yet, sometimes shutting itself for so long that mentally, it convinces itself that it has recovered.”

“That’s a grim prognosis.”

“To frame it in a way the layman can understand, it’s…like an extreme form of PTSD.”

“Maybe we should treat it as such.”

“Although, I’ve found Colonel O’Neill to be ever the optimist.”

“The Colonel? Really?”

“That optimism might have something to do with getting me to sign off on his medical forms and clear him for active duty. The rest of SG-1 is going to follow in his footsteps. From a professional standpoint however, I’d recommend gate travel to be suspended pending medical and psychological approval. Unfortunately, that could take months.”

“The top brass are asking questions.”

“I’ve just submitted my detailed analyses and reports to the board. The bottom-line is, we’ve never dealt with something like this before.”

“Just when I think I’ve seen everything there is to see, every day at the SGC never fails to surprise me. We deal with it anyway. I trust your judgement, Dr. Fraiser. I may or may not have the final call in this. But we’ll damn well fight for them.”

“We will, Sir.”

oOo

The door swung open to a large pile of folders that were piled on the General’s desk. That couldn’t be a good sign when Hammond summoned him at oh dark thirty from his bunk, since that meant a talk was in order.

His favourite kind.

“I have Dr. Frasier’s report on my desk, Colonel. And what you’ve been through is remarkable.”

Jack had to hand it to the man. He pulled all the punches, looked you in the eye and went straight for the jugular.

He tried for levity. “Is it, Sir?”

Hammond gave him a look that he knew all too well. The kind that made errant grandchildren come to heel and battle-hardened Colonels cower in shame.

“I meant that in the best possible way, Son. Considering what I’ve read of your reports, this is nothing less than a miracle. It took me more than three phone calls to the President assuring him that SG-1 aren’t clones, or variants of themselves like wolves in sheep clothing. And I’m glad to say that the memorial services we had for you can actually stay a memory.”

Unconsciously, Jack’s fingers tapped a rhythm on his knee. Was there a punch line somewhere here?

“Good to know where we stand, General,” he ventured cautiously. “When all’s been said and done, there’s just one important question left.”

“You’re looking at a return to active duty.”

He shrugged. “Read my mind, Sir.”

The deep sigh that came from Hammond couldn’t be good.

“About that. It’s good to have you back, Jack. You and the rest of SG-1.”

“And I have to say it’s good to be back. But…?”

If Hammond heard the sharp edge that’d crept into his voice, he ignored it. The man hadn’t made General by getting easily roused as a bear being poked in hibernation after all.

“But you know as well as I do, that SG-1’s miraculous return is going to cause some waves and for this reason, your team is on stand down until we can prove—without a shadow of a doubt—that you will be fit for active duty again.”

Hammond’s bluntness was strangely soothing to his fraying edges.

“And how long would that take, General? We’ve been through a battery of tests, endless rounds of interviews and several meetings with the President that I’ve to admit are…not very useful. Can’t say I’m looking forward to more.”

And wasn’t that the truth? Being poked and prodded was enough to try a saint’s patience and the sheer agony of hours of sitting through repetitive questioning that determined their _psychological well-being_ —while being confined to base—was making the whole team antsy, restless and ready to break.

It’d only brought back the first few weeks in Neithana that he’d rather leave festering but shut tight in the darkest pits of his memory banks. When he’d awakened disoriented, disabled and swimming in pain, pissed and in misery and unable to get a grasp on time and place. When people insisted that his name was Jonah Tuvall and that he was an elite soldier who’d undergone a surgical procedure and how they were carefully restoring what he’d lost during a training mission.

How was this any better than an interrogation meant to satisfy the brass that gave zero fucks to anything other than their asses?

“Do you have something to say to me? Off the record?”

More deflection was the way to go, though he didn’t doubt that Hammond saw through the bullshit that he was trying to lay on thick. Sometimes, Jack wondered if it was actually better to let them fumble around in the dark than to unearth the secrets that no one really wanted to know.

“If you’re worried that my head would crack, don’t be, Sir. I’m still me, scars and all.”

“There’s no quick fix and you know that. Those scars worry me more than you know.”

He pushed that metaphor to its limits. “Scars scab over, Sir.”

“Not as well as you think.” Hammond speared him with a pointed look. One that could have frozen the glaciers in P3R-118 without the need for Korros. One that said his patience was finally running thin. “I’m going to repeat myself, Colonel. Is there something you want to say to me, off the record?”

Jack shrugged nonchalantly, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe it was time to test the waters.

“The truth is, Sir, this experience has made me wonder if all this psychological business is taking a toll on my old, creaky bones. Just sayin’, you know.”

“Personally, I agree,” Hammond said slowly, to his utter surprise. “No one will deny that you’ve been through a lot. The reports from SG-1 were beyond difficult to read. But professionally, you’re far from done.”

“So—”

“Both you and Major Carter.”

The speculative, frank tone told him more than he needed to know, despite what he and Carter had decided to leave out of their reports apart from stating their deepening acquaintance as Jonah and Thera before their own personalities cracked through the weakening mindstamp and its shielding.

Hammond could damn well read between the lines.

There was no bringing back the past, though the fateful day they’d decided to step onto P3R-118 had also given him a glimpse of how he and Carter would have been together, minus the shackles of rank and duty. That moment had been his salvation, good while it lasted.

It’d taken him a while to realise that he hadn’t yet stopped grieving the abrupt loss of those moments, more so when the woman in question was now his second IC.

Irrevocable truth, unchangeable fact.

But Hammond’s hands were always tied these days, despite the sympathy-tinged answer revealing that the General did understand. That because of this, his resignation letter would continue to sit, untouched and gathering dust, at the bottom of his drawer for a while yet.

He’d take all that he could get right now, however, and Hammond had as good as granted him what he needed.

“Yes, Sir,” he ground out, eager to return to the solitude of his cabin where it would be easier to shut down that very brief resurgence of hope.

“Do me a favour, son.”

Hammond’s quiet order halted his steps.

“Jack, I’m particularly concerned for Major Carter, who doesn’t seem to be coping as well as you are.”

Hammond was wrong. Carter didn’t seem to walk to talk then and chances were, she wouldn’t want to talk now. The reality of military life and routine had had time to sink in, more so after the rounds of exhausting tests and questioning they’d undergone.

That much she’d made clear on P3R-118, when they’d all but gone back to their stilted ways, separated by rank and the horror of breaching the regulations.

He stiffened unconsciously.

Like Pavlov’s dog, any mention of Carter conditioned him to make a response. He paused, debating how to answer the General. Was it right to simply say that they’d just go on as though the better half of the past year hadn’t happened? That no matter what the fallout was going to be, SG-1 was just going to soldier on, like the premier team they were, the shining example of military teamwork and unbreakable bonds?

They were as good as running on empty right now. Back in Colorado Springs, where the idea of home was as foreign and indefinable as it had been on Neithana.

But on that ice planet, at least Jonah and Thera had known where they’d stood with each other, those brief moments of happiness sharply juxtaposing painfully with the agony of readjusting back to a holding pattern that made him feel as caged as he was as a POW a lifetime ago.

“Carter is one of the most resilient people I know, Sir.”

“No one is unbreakable.”

He paused. “Yes, Sir.”

Hammond’s smile was both cryptic and sad. “I’d appreciate it very much if you spoke to her. I think Major Carter would appreciate it too.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, knowing that was as good as an order. Off the record or otherwise.

But Hammond hadn’t put a deadline on this conversation. That now they were on enforced downtime, Jack figured that he had a while to regroup and get his own head straightened out before that very uncomfortable talk came to pass.

Just…not yet.

oOo

When there was no one around for miles, the slightest sound—such as footsteps through the grass or even a creak in the wooden planks that lined the short dock—was amplified in a way that had Jack sitting straight up in bed disoriented and confused.

He strained and listened.

Heard nothing else but the chatter of the wildlife and the occasional squawk of a bird that flew overhead.

Maybe it was just one of those times, he told himself. Just one of those times when he thought he’d woken up in those swanky digs back in Neithana, only to see late afternoon light slanting through the dirt-stained windows and not the giant dome that covered the once-pristine city.

The clock next to him confirmed that dusk was still about an hour away, though he’d tired himself out on the dock the whole morning before falling into bed and letting sleep take over.

To distract himself, he’d set out tasks—mundane, boring and exhausting—to accomplish each day for the entire week he’d been granted leave. Day 2 into this and he knew he was looking at abject failure.

Quelling the voices in his head and the constant playback of the past year in his mind was going to take more than just back-breaking manual labour and he’d found out the hard way, when his thoughts drifted to Carter as he mucked out the cabin and tried to work himself to exhaustion.

The voices actually spoke louder here, in the solitude he thought he’d craved and the memories as inescapable as they’d been back in the claustrophobic walls of his tiny room at the base.

Whatever it took to keep the demons at bay, he was desperate enough try it, save for taking solace in a bottle and putting a gun to his head.

For a few, sublime minutes, Jack lay back and shut his eyes, letting his mind wander aimlessly.

The tell-tale creak came again—a rhythmic tapping of footsteps on grass and then on wood.

“Sir?”

The voice alone made him shoot out of bed. What the fu—

Before he could do anything else, the bedroom door swung open revealing Carter, who stood in jeans and a white blouse that fluttered around her in the drafty house.

“You left the base.”

“Carter?” He gaped at her, running fingers through the thick swaths of hair that’d been flattened by the pillow.

Her sudden presence here had snatched away any bit of composure that remained, leaving him on shaky ground. But if he was off-centre, Carter looked anything but. Admittedly, the last time he’d seen her was when they’d been facing a host of questions from a panel of medical personnel and she hadn’t looked too good then.

And the last thing he’d expected was that she’d be stepping into this space that he had barely told anyone about. On his turf, no less, with no interruptions.

“General Hammond gave me some directions.”

She leaned casually against the doorway, the insouciant pose oddly contrasting with the hesitation on her face.

“Do you remember what I said before we went through the gate?”

He paused at her question. Counted backwards from ten slowly, tried to calm his galloping heart rate.

She was here.

Out of her fatigues and donning a new skin of confidence that she wore as well as the mantle of SG-1’s second IC. A Carter that he’d never seen before, except perhaps, when she was Thera Arann, the steady blue of her gaze grounding him.

Maybe _he_ wasn’t quite ready for the direction in which the conversation was headed.

Wait.

There was still a way out of this and he needed to give it to her. As many times as he could, though this… _thing_ happening between them felt wholly new. Remade. Reforged.

“I remember a lot of things, Carter.”

Just like that, his deliberate vagueness brought back the flash of wariness and uncertainty he knew he’d put back on her face.

“Sir, I—”

He interrupted her and gestured to the empty space next to him on the bed. Just to buy a little more time as he fought to regain a semblance of coherence. The woman in front of him was Carter, and yet not Carter and it was a confounding sight.

It riveted him as much as it threw him off. Suddenly, he was fucking out of his depth, flailing for purchase on a slippery slope that could send them both back to purgatory with a wrongly uttered word.

Somewhere in the grass, a critter called out as a slight breeze filtered through the open window. The sounds of nature were yet another thing he’d become unaccustomed to.

“Why don’t you come in and sit?”

She covered the distance in three steps, slowly sinking down on the mattress next to him.

“I think this talk is a long time in coming.”

He agreed silently, though hadn’t she made herself clear a few weeks ago, when it became apparent that things were better left in a room?

“That leaves us—”

He shrugged helplessly. “Before you go on, Carter, I’m going to say that I don’t have the answers. God’s honest truth here. But if you want a resignation letter,” he looked away for a moment, “it’s lying in a drawer back home waiting to be submitted.”

“I still think of Thera.” The confession was hushed, whispered like she was ashamed of it. “It’s hard to…let her go.”

Unable to help himself, he looked at her jean-clad leg that hid the scar on her calf. Just the latest proof of that double life they’d led, the only tangible remnant that she’d brought back with her that matched the memories that weighed them down.

He understood completely. Maybe he and the rest of SG-1 were the only ones who could. That they’d live with the dual identities the time until their lungs gave out, because there were too many things to forget. Not that he regretted all of it.

Not when it came to Carter especially.

“You were her, on all accounts, Sam. Not just for weeks but many months. Can’t be easy letting it go.”

“Wasn’t it the same for you?”

He drew in a shaky breath, then slowly wound an arm around her. “Yeah, it was. It _is_.”

Some words were unnecessary. Their thoughts and experiences mirrored each other’s, though Carter’s personal conflict and sense of duty were probably shouting louder than his.

They’d been each other’s in a way that went beyond labels and ranks and circumstances. Neithana had made sure of it, their mindstamps ironically being the last straw that broke the camel’s back. But if the mindstamp had overwritten them, it’d only revealed that even that could stop what they could have had together.

Time slipped like gears turning out of alignment.

Carter as Thera, Carter as Carter. Him as Jonah. Jonah and Thera and the feral surge of desire that they’d had between them, giving into the attraction which had long gone past the physical. The inexplicable draw of each other, as they wore the identities of people long dead, gone and near forgotten. If that wasn’t enough to screw with someone’s mind, he didn’t know what else could.

What was it that the psychologists and neurologists said anyway?

That their brains worked differently now, even though they were back to good ol’ Sam and Jack, second IC and CO, Major and Colonel. They would permanently carry these two versions of themselves as they’d lived them—the imprinted one perhaps fading after some period of time—but no one really knew the long-term impact of the mindstamping process or the extent to which their brain chemistry had really been altered.

In an odd way, there was the opportunity to proceed on a clean slate, to move forward together, in this turning point that he knew they would inevitably face past their escape from Neithana.

On the first night out of Cheyenne mountain, he’d sat on his own porch and felt like an alien opening the shutters as American suburban life passed him by. Stared at the familiarity of his truck and the layout of his house for a good hour, then wondering how unfamiliar it’d all become and if he’d ever get used to it again. Brought out the photos of Charlie and Sara, realising belatedly that the pain had been muffled by the highs and lows of the past year on the ice.

Until he gave into the restlessness and drove all the way up north in order to find some peace.

By all accounts, this reality that he’d been thrust back into felt like a different lifetime altogether. That the one he’d just escaped had been more real than this odd rural spot in Northern Minnesota he was in now. Doc Frasier called it an adjustment period. He called it a damn nightmare where he spent nearly every moment feeling as though he was about to jump out of his skin.

And with Carter suddenly in the picture, reality seemed all the more distorted, as though he was looking at himself through a thick mist where nothing was all that it seemed.

“What is it you want, Carter?”

No hard science here. Maybe it came down to something as simple as this—what she wanted. Though he’d hoped that those wants aligned with his own unspoken desires too.

Her snort was as inelegant as he’d ever heard. “I’ve been thinking about that. Suddenly it seems as though I want many things. To stargaze till dawn. To keep working at the SGC. To officially make blue jello a food group.”

Jack tilted his head towards the fishing rods leaning against the far end of the wall. “Tough call. We all have ambitions. Mine are far simpler.”

Her soft chuckle made him smile in turn as she swatted him in mock-annoyance.

“What if…I don’t think we should let this go?”

He raised a brow and brushed his lips against her hair. “Not what you said the last time.”

Her sigh was heavy on his shirt.

“I remember the exact moment I came to a different conclusion. When the PPA attacks began. Daniel, Tea’c and I were holed up, desperate to find you. And I remember wishing that we’d done some things…differently. I know you thought I was dead in the explosion…and I know I ran earlier, but this is me saying I won’t do it anymore.”

Carter’s uncharacteristic rambling was yet another reason why he shouldn’t be tossing caution to the wind. But…when did it get so hard to breathe?

“Sam, stop. Just hang on—”

“—if everything else was a lie, you—you were real for me.”

Words were a tangled mess in his throat as his head tried to catch up with what she was saying. Instead, a choked laugh bubbled out of him, the only sound that didn’t justify the emotions that were suddenly tumbling free.

Speechless. She’d made him fucking speechless. Overwhelmed. In awe of her.

“Carter, I…”

She closed the distance that remained between them, her whisper a gentle sweep across his skin.

“I know. Me too.”

-Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long before I wrote the first chapter, I already knew how the ending was going to be. Or so I thought. There were so many ways I imagined the closing chapter: full of angst, somewhat unresolved, with S/J playing the same game that they always do in the show. But I like Sam Carter being the take charge woman she is and somehow, this Sam in my head refused to conform to the ending I'd envisioned. So there it is, the end of the story. It's left deliberately this way so you can imagine what happens after. To all who stuck with this mammoth that at times, didn't look like it could rise from the dead, thank you for your patience. 
> 
> All errors are mine.


End file.
